


Victorious

by notvictor, Ramonaflowersz



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drugs, M/M, Past Sherlock Holmes/Victor Trevor, Present Sherlock Holmes/Victor Trevor, Sherlock Holmes and Bees, Teenlock, Unilock, Viclock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-03-10 04:58:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 42,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3277610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notvictor/pseuds/notvictor, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ramonaflowersz/pseuds/Ramonaflowersz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They could never seem to stay apart any longer than that recently, and unfortunately, in the same breath, they could never stay together for long either. It was torturous, their lives kept conflicting with each other's.</p><p>The story of Victor Trevor and Sherlock Holmes, whose lives are more entwined than they would have ever expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Those Of Lesser Intellect Need not Apply

With his favourite hazelnut mocha in hand, and with his overfilled floral-printed backpack on, the auburn-haired botanist walked over campus with a light skip in his step.

It was a Monday, and although many people despised the first day of a new school week, it wasn’t like that for the young man. For him, Mondays meant new projects, interesting lectures, and a reason to communicate with the people that he considered his friends.

 He was proud of his choices at the moment. Instead of forcing himself into a fully-packed bus that had the hanging smell of coffee and gloomy faces abound, he opted for a long walk over grass and stone pathways from his favourite coffee shop to the science building, where he would have his first class of the new term. It was a ten minute walk where leaves were sure to get stuck to the bottom of his shoes. And one where his nose would most likely turn bright red from the crisp autumn air.

 "You're being pretentious again, that’s something my grandma used to say. Something like, ‘it’s always best to sleep under the stars’," his friend Jeremy had said, handing him the mocha he’d ordered with an amused expression. Of course, that was his charm, his trademark.

 "Oh darling, it's almost as if you just realized that," he had answered, and with a quick peck on the cheek and a wink, he'd left.

 It was on his way inside the science building that the ginger stopped in his tracks, his Oxfords scraping some mud on the floor. The university had old newsboards hanging up in the hallways near every entrance, which were usually filled up with useless folders and advertisements that everyone always seemed to ignore. This time though, a certain article had caught his very easily distracted attention.

The young man was just about to move over to it, to grab the note and read it, when the lecturer could be heard only a few meters away, making him snap out of it. It was a thing that happened at least once a week.

Because of the time it took to get his coffee and walk instead of taking the bus, Victor always had about one or two minutes space to go to the loo, or maybe to settle down in the lecture room. This time, he had spent those two minutes on getting distracted by the newsboard.

“Mr Trevor. If you could please stop what you're doing and join the class, that would be very desireable,” the female lecturer called, her words slow and clear. No wonder, she was probably getting very tired of this floral print-wearing, leaf-drying life enjoyer named Victor Trevor, who didn’t mind showing up about two minutes late to class.

Victor forced his eyes away from the small paper on the board and started moving towards his first class all cheerily, giving the teacher his most charming smile and nodding as he passed by. He tried to apologize the best he could with that smile, but this Monday seemed a bit too blue for many. “Mornin’,” he muttered, and threw his empty coffee cup in the trash bin right next to her with a soft ‘thump’ before looking around.

Ah, finding a spot, that shouldn’t be so difficult. Most of the students in his science class didn’t really bother hating the optimist that was Victor Trevor. How could they? Victor was keen on helping people, he was the one that pulled up their grades in projects with his impeccable knowledge in pretty much everything concerning plants or wildlife. That, and he was genuinely pleasing to look at. He had a very nice smile, if he had to say so himself.

Even though Victor was an eager student, he got sidetracked easily and his mind would wander to far more interesting places. The professor would often have to call his name to snap him out of these daydreams. Now don’t get him wrong, it wasn't that he didn’t care about his lessons, there were just other, better things to think about.

The same happened today after about eight minutes in. Victor had written half a sentence in his notebook when he suddenly remembered that one paper on the bulletin board.

  _What could it have said?_

 The only reason why it stuck with him, it seemed, was because of a natural curiosity; one simply cannot stop reading once they start.

 You subconsciously skim over all the simple words that you know, every simple word that is understandable within your knowledge of the language when you look around. Sometimes, a word that has to do with your passions might suddenly pique your interest, and may cause confusion when the realization finally hits you that you truly read that word. Then, the problem is that you don't quite remember where you saw it.

 This time, the word in question was only four-lettered.

  **Bees.**

 And he knew exactly where he'd seen it.

The next hour was a lecture filled with table leg-kicking, scalp-rubbing, doodling and an all-round impatient Victor Trevor.

The only sweet mercy was when the professor turned off the Smartboard's screen and wished them all a nice week.

Much unlike the rest of the students that began filing out of the room, Victor was acting like a child whose holiday just started, almost hitting a girl in the head as he threw his backpack over a shoulder, running out of class. He didn't even bother to notice his lecturer looking at him with a lemon-sour face.

Clumsily banging his waist against the sidepost of the door while he turned, Victor hurried in the direction of the newsboard again. His backpack was banging against the side of his chest the whole way over, but he simply ignored the pain of, frankly, a _collection_ of 400-paged textbooks cutting into his skin through the backpack.

 Then finally, _finally_ , he got to the newsboard and pulled off the paper, sitting on the ground and reading the article eagerly.

 To be honest, it was even more satisfactory than he had expected.

 

 _Seeking:_   
_Partner(s) for an extra credit project_   
  
_If you are a clade anthophila enthusiast like myself, perhaps this project will be of some interest to you. Or perhaps not; I was told that we will have to relate the topic to a "bigger picture," as Mr. Emsworth so eloquently phrased it._   
  
_While that part may not be the most interesting or challenging, there are other aspects of the project that I shall be looking forward to, such as testing the effects that the venom has in differing quantities in different parts of the body over an extended period of time. Live bees will be involved, as well as a (singular) hand-picked live test subject. I hope that you are still as interested in this as you were previously._   
  
_The final product needs to include a dissertation(~10 pages), an attached diagram relating to the topic, proof of volunteer work done relating to the topic(3 hours), and some sort of craft in which I have no quarrels with leaving up to you to figure out._   
  
_You will also receive extra credit for a science course of your choosing, provided that you are currently enrolled in said course._   
  
_If you do not have the time, I do not need your time. If you do not have the motivation, I do not have it for you. If you are not interested in the topic, I am not interested in you._   
  
_Call [#], or email [@] for more information._

_Those of lesser intellect need not apply._

_-WH_

 

Wow.

Victor had never read a more sarcastic advertisement than this one. Before he had even finished reading the entire article, Victor’s priorities had switched, and now he knew that this was something he wouldn’t let go of easily.

He had to contact that person. Not necessarily to join the project, just to compliment them on the best amount of snark he'd ever seen. He liked them like that, humorous in ways they didn't mean to be.

Not wanting to let it wait until anything from a bird to freshly fallen leaves would distract him, the ginger-haired guy grabbed his phone and typed in the given number eagerly, very interested in the person that was this…

He peeked at the paper.

_William Holmes._

Never heard of him, quite honestly.

While almost being too caught up in his phone trying to think of a good and funny message to give off the best first impression, Victor bumped into several people with a grunt, and then finally got to send the first message with an eager smile.

 

**To: William Holmes**

**Hello, is this William Holmes? The one from that bee project folder in building C? I’m Victorious Trevor, third grade Botany student. It would be great to do this project with you!**

 

Perfect.

He was just about to pocket his phone again when his phone buzzed in his hand. He was surprised by the speed of the other, if it was indeed William Holmes responding. Most students seemed to let you wait for at least two hours to teach you some patience, or at least that was how he felt about it.

 

_I specifically asked for those of lesser intellect to not apply._

 

Victor needed to read it twice before he realized how direct the other had answered. So a bit of silliness seemed stupid to him? How...

 

**Rude.**

**I thought someone as intelligent as you might realize that saying their name shouldn't be an act of stupidity, especially when it's such a fabulous one.**

 

He would totally give himself a pat on the shoulder for that response, if it wasn't for the reply he received only seconds later:

 

_If you willingly refer to yourself as Victorious, I can't imagine you being as smart as you think you are._

 

With a snicker, Victor began typing.

He'd prove him wrong, he had done a project about bees only half a year ago, and there was no way he would let go of this chance to prove that jerk wrong.

 

**Did you know, that a bee's wings can go about 200 beats per second?**

**And did you know the honey they produce is one of the only foods in the world that cannot spoil?**

**Or the fact that the bee's brain is oval in shape?**

  _Did you know that bees can recognise faces? I'm sure there's a way to condition them to attack on command, get them to associate a certain face with unpleasantries. Further study may prove necessary._

  **Are you threatening me?**

**I honestly expected better from a person who needs a partner to work with for this project. Then again, bees love me, i'm great with pets.**

 

Victor bit his lip as his fingers flew over the touch screen of his phone, humming softly as he tried to mimick the other's way of communicating.

 

**Also, as you may know as a self-proclaimed 'bee expert', bees die when they sting. Are you proud of yourself, forcing bees into death just because you can't handle my fabulousness?**

_I could always do the project myself. Having a partner is not a requirement. At least, for me it isn't. Otherwise, why would you be a good partner? Because you looked up some facts about bees?_

_  
_

Some students were looking with concern at Victor walking around as if he was drunk, quite concentrated on his phone while making twists and turns. Walking straight wasn't his biggest concern right now. 

 

**If i read the invitation for this project correctly, there is a clear reluctance. You have obviously already tried to get out of this problem the easy way. Also, if you look at the timestamps of the texts i sent you, you'll see i answered within half a minute. Try searching for suitable bee facts within thirty seconds if you feel like i'm lying.**

 

Then, another thing to prove this guy wrong:

 

**I did almost the exact same project half a year ago, and I was planning to continue my research with the creation of a bee hive right on campus. Plus, i'm an excellent baker, i could make bee cookies so delicious your teachers will give you nothing less than a 90+ score. If you don't believe me, feel free to ask Professor Hopkins for the highest-scoring students of last semester and i'll ask her to record your face when you realize how wrong you are. I'd love to see that video.**

**I'd be a better and faster bee trainer than you, look out for those bees.**

 

Then suddenly, there was no little text bubble telling him that the other was typing. No response, either, while he clearly saw that the other was online. Too caught up in this conversation, Victor just kept it in his sight as he entered his flat to get the books for his next class.

Never would he know, that he had a great talent of making people speechless, especially one William Holmes.

It was a radio silence that Victor despised, because he started getting distracted again and almost missed the messages that he got back.

 

_All right, if you think you're so great._

_We can meet at the campus library?_

**  
**

Ah ah no, too quiet, he wasn't good with quiet places. Plus, he needed someone for testimonials; he wanted to give off a good impression.

Jeremy, maybe? Jeremy thought highly of him! Yes, he would do.

 

**I'm not really fond of the campus library, i'd rather talk about bees over a caramel latte. Do you know the little coffee shop near building 7-C? I'm always there around four in the afternoon, and it's usually quiet anyway.**

_Tomorrow. See you then. Victor._

**Victorious. I'd love to see who i have been talking to.**

 

He truly was. The person seemed to be a male, around his age, and since he had the nerve to make a big intellect a requirement, he didn't seem to be somebody who would have quite a lot of friends. Especially if he needed to make an advertisement in the first place.

_Well,_

Victor thought.

_Bring it on._


	2. Jeremy's

Victor wouldn't easily admit it, but it was a mistake to come over to Jeremy's an hour before his appointment with the mysterious William Holmes. His mind was now completely preoccupied with the thought of said William coming over and meeting him. He had asked after the name to his friends of course, but no one had a clue who he was talking about. It didn't help calming down his curiosity at all. It had even been so bad that Victor was at the brink of texting the guy again just to ask about him.

His thoughts were interrupted by the small clattering of a dish being placed on the coffee table in front of him, and Victor looked up from it right into the hazel eyes of Jeremy, who smiled. "I got a break, coffee's on the house." The other said, and Vic made space for him on the couch by pulling his knees up.

"I'm going mad, Jer," he muttered, as he took the coffee in both his hands, sipping from it carefully. _Far too hot_ but it would be okay with a bit of patience. "He was an absolute nutter and he's amazingly sarcastic, but I honestly don't know what to expect of him! Quite honestly I’m imagining him as this short, grumpy guy with a constant frown on his face, but I mean, what if he's like the arrogant pretty boy type?"

The other guy, almost seeming to sense the internal conflict going on, started laughing. "So what? If you don't like him, don't do it. You are not forced to work with him at all, and he needs you, you idiot."

Jeremy didn't understand it all, or ar least he didn't seem to understand it all as well as Vic did, not that his mind ever truly made sense. This William Holmes had something special, and he genuinely seemed to be fearless of anything concerning bees; something he couldn't say of the dark-skinned boy who was now settling against his side. Jeremy had ran away when they visited a beekeeper last summer after one of the hives had been opened to harvest the honey. Yes, there can actually be bees in the hive, Jeremy.

"It's not that, I just want to make a good first impression in real life. I'm not really a 'wow' kind of person, and I need to be!"

"Just act like you did with me." Jeremy didn't really know what he was talking about. That meant flirty and ridiculously relaxed, he couldn't do that with this individual.

"I think he's dark-haired, and I think he wears button-ups and looks really... Really good," Jeremy then said, so quiet and specific that it confused Victor, and only then did he notice that Jeremy was looking at the door where a tall guy had just entered the café. Before he could say another word, Jeremy rushed behind the checkout to work on a cup of coffee, and Victor was left there, in his ridiculous bee shirt to talk to William Holmes.

He knew it from the moment they made eye contact.

*********

Sherlock knew _something_ from the moment they made eye contact, there, in the middle of a quiet café as he undid his scarf, yet he wasn't sure if it was a thing that could really be considered in the realm of ‘positive’.

This guy was going to be a handful.

“I assume you’re Victor?” he asked, looking him over with that sharp narrowing of his eyes that was pretty much his trademark. He felt like he'd seen the other around campus; he had gone in the café with a faint idea of what this Victor looked like, because he was fairly sure that he was the one who wore that dress on the first day of the previous semester. And at the moment, he was wearing a rather bold bee patterned button-down shirt with dark jeans. Weird kid. And not even for his choice of attire.

“Victorious,” the other corrected for him, as if to prove that sentiment, then he was greeted with a blindingly bright smile as the redhead waved him over to the table he’d been sitting at. It was a new, weird experience from the start, and that made him feel uncharacteristically out of place as he made his way across the room. He might as well have been walking blindfolded, for what it was worth.

He sat down.

Before Sherlock could even get a word in edge-wise, ‘Victorious’ turned back around to where the front counter was, lifting a hand to get a dark-skinned employee’s attention. “Hey Jer, would you please bring over another coffee for me? You know how I like it.”

“A caramel latte for me.”

“And a caramel latte for William,” Victor repeated. Now Sherlock thought that he was purposefully trying to be irritating.

The answer was a quiet okay.

Sherlock seemed vaguely amused when he turned to him, though, with his back straightened and one corner of his lips beginning to turn up into a smirk that wasn't completely genuine. "My name isn't William, by the way, it's Sherlock."

 Victor's face lit up in recognition. "Oh," he drawled out, and in response Sherlock raised his chin the slightest bit because Victor _had_ to have heard something about him at some point; he wasn't exactly the most liked person on campus thus far. It might have had something to do with being at odds with one of the most well-known students at the University of London, but guess how much Sherlock cared. Victor exhaled in mimicry of a laugh. " _Shercock_! Yeah I've heard of you, there’s a bunch of different varations of your name flying around campus, apparently."

"Unsurprising." And to his chagrin, Victor actually started laughing about it. Sherlock made a face at him. Time to shut him up. “You wore that shirt today because you thought it would impress me.”

“Did it work?” he asked cheekily. He didn't seem fazed at all, and honestly, he seemed more interested in Sherlock than anything now.

“Not in the slightest.”

“That’s a shame, really. And I like this shirt, too, I got it for ten pounds at a thrift shop in Wales."

There was a pause where neither of them said anything, where Victor just smiled at him from across the table, and where Sherlock made the resolution to stay strictly to business from now on to spare himself from the tedium of small-talk. “Now about the project- I’ve got the essay covered, so that’s not something you'll have to worry yourself with. However…”

Sherlock continued on with his explanation of some of the finer points of what he had planned for the project, something about the essay topic, another very brief overview about the experiment he was thinking about conducting for the ‘applied learning’ part of it, a few more things about bees, never stopping his impassioned rant long enough for Victor to butt in anywhere.

But before he even got close to half-way through with it, he saw a slim figure approaching them from the corner of his eye.

Victor was still smiling blithely at him when Jeremy stopped at their table to set their respective cups in front of the two. Another dish clinked on Victor’s side soon after. “Sorry for the wait, but I wanted you to have this too. It’s honey cake.”

“And you’re as sweet as honey, love.” He gently brought a hand up to make Jeremy lean in close, apparently so that he could plant a firm kiss to his cheek, which Jeremy seemed shy about but all together he didn’t look like he minded. Sherlock, of course, was observing the whole thing in that peculiar way of his, then Jeremy turned to walk back behind the counter. Victor nudged the plate in his direction. “Do you want it?”

Sherlock’s mouth hung open on a word for a few seconds, then he visibly decided to go down a different train of thought. “You’re not with him, romantically, does that mean you're using him for something?"

Victor waved a hand at him, as if dispelling the very idea. "Oh Jeremy's just a darling, he knows we're friends and I know we're friends, and I love being affectionate with him, so what's the difference if I like to kiss him on the cheek?"

Sherlock didn't know what to say for a few seconds, to be honest. Victor did seem rather like the type to do stuff like that, even with a quite obvious ex love interest of his. Best to just ignore it and move on. He took a sip of his caramel latte, and even if Sherlock wasn't often one for figures of speech, it honestly was like heaven in a cup. He made a mental note to stop by this café more often.

Then he pointedly pushed the honey cake back in Victor's direction. "So, the project," he started again, hands wrapped around his mug.

“Mh.” Victor quite violently chased down the gulp of coffee he took, using the opportunity to throw in his two cents that he hadn't gotten the chance to before. He pointed a finger at Sherlock. “I actually have an idea for the arts and crafts thing, I think I told you about it already.”

“Yes, over texts.”

“That. About the bee cookies, I can bake these excellent chocolate cookies-”

Sherlock interrupted Victor’s grand hand gestures to throw in, “I will only accept anatomically correct bee cookies.”

Victor’s hands had lowered, but in turn a smirk raised his lips. “Oh, you underestimate me. That was the plan, and you clearly didn't do that research I suggested.”

Sherlock’s face didn't give much away, but, yet again, Victor left him speechless.

They were both subtly leaning in each other’s direction, as if some sort of force was bringing them together ever so slowly. Sherlock’s elbows were propped up on the table while Victor was sitting on the edge of his own seat as close to the table as possible without putting his arms up, like some sort of overeager child eyeing up his dessert. Victor had already gotten his free dessert from Jeremy, though, and he was halfway finished with it to boot.

Sherlock had a fork pointed in his face as Victor began talking again. “Phase two of my plan, before you talk my ear off, is to find bees to for this hive I want to get built on campus. You know, as a completely interactive aspect to the project. We can have a garden near the hive filled with a bunch of flowers they like with signs set up to label each of them, kind of like, if you’ve ever been to a botanical garden and they have exhibits set up. The good thing about majoring in botany, is I can do all that myself.”

Sherlock was impressed with the idea, and in addition he was conflicted as to what to feel about this Victor being such an obvious overachiever. Then again, he could’ve actually been just as big of a bee enthusiast as himself. Either way, he mumbled under his breath, “Thank god for botany majors.”

“Sorry, what was that?”

The playful raise of Victor’s eyebrow told him all that he needed to know. Sherlock tisked, because he wasn’t about to just throw compliments his way. “At least your major is good for something. Now unless there’s anything about the project you’d like to change, I believe we’re done here.”

He was in the middle of tying his scarf back on as he made his way up to the checkout to greet Jeremy again. They said a few words to each other, some more small-talk that he had no interest in remembering. Then, he said, “You may only be doing your job how you’re supposed to, which doesn’t warrant much of anything, let alone a compliment, but I do have to tell you that was the best latte I’ve had in a while. I’m contemplating switching my choice of coffee shop.”

A blush was creeping up on the other’s face. “Oh, well. Thank you Sherlock, I hope you do.”

There was something about their brief interaction told him that he was missing out on something important, but before he had enough time to contemplate it, Victor was taking up his whole field of vision, standing there all casually with his elbow resting on a plastic box of napkins.

“What, you don’t want to just stay and chat for a bit? Get another caramel latte? There’s so much more to talk about, especially when it comes to bees and I think Jeremy gets off in half an hour… If you’re not doing anything, that is.”

He had to wonder exactly what a committed computer gamer could contribute to a conversation like that, given how much their circles of interests pointedly did not overlap, but for appearance’s sake, he bit his tongue.

And fortunately - or unfortunately - he did have other things to do that didn’t involve sitting in a café and chatting with two overly-affectionate best friends.

So, Sherlock scrunched up the one side of his face. “Mmm, I’ve got bacterial cultures to attend to. Thanks anyway.” He handed his card over to Jeremy, and as soon as he got it back he was sure to make a quick exit.

It wasn’t that he wanted to get away from Victor in particular, but the guy was a handful on a whole other level. Never before had any common person gotten him to shut up as effectively as Victor had, which was a fact that Sherlock found both fascinating and terrifying to the point that the last thing he wanted to do was think about it. As he pulled out a cigarette on his way back to the dorms - which nobody tended to bother him about anymore after a few memorable verbal lashings - he came to the realisation that this was going to be his life for the entirety of the new semester.

… Then again, he’d decide later, Victor being a handful didn’t have to be a bad thing. He always liked a challenge.


	3. Deductions Deductions...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find both authors on Tumblr!  
> Ramonaflowersz - the-doors-are-closed.tumblr.com  
> not_victor - Not-victor.tumblr.com
> 
>   **Victor**  
>  _Sherlock ___

They were both watching the dark-haired individual’s back as he left the coffee shop in silence, both trying not to look at the other or focus on the state he had left them in. Shercock Holmes, named after his arrogance and snark. Now that the ginger thought about it, he could have recognized him ages ago if he had actually listened to the stories about him going around campus.

Victor decided to just call him William for the time being.

That was the first decision he made the moment he allowed himself to think freely. He didn’t know when his mind had went on autopilot and gave him the courage to do more than just freeze like a deer in headlights the moment Sherlock had entered the coffee shop, but he was glad that it had. He kept thinking about that, trying to come up with as many explanations for it as he could, but he was broken out of his reverie by a soft voice just behind him.

“Well, that was an… Experience,” Jeremy muttered, and then refilled the coffee machine with beans, not even bothering to look at the Botany student.

Victor had to agree, it had been an experience. You know what else it had been?

“And a success!”

Victor hurried over to Jeremy and pecked his friend’s cheek, practically cheering. The moment he calmed down, Jeremy asked a question that didn’t really need an answer, right?

“So, are you going to do it? It looks quite attractive, the project I mean,” Victor heard him say. He turned his head curiously to look at his friend, who avoided his gaze on purpose.

“No way.” Victor knew that look, he _knew_ Jeremy had acted differently around Sherlock. Initially, he was indeed a shy person, but this time it had not been just simply shy, it had been shaky hands and avoiding gazes, and he could hear Jeremy’s words when Sherlock had entered the room loud and clear now.

 

 

 

 

> _"I think he's dark-haired, and I think he wears button-ups and looks really... Really good."_

 

A smirk appeared almost instantly on Victor’s face, and Jeremy saw it and widened his eyes. “You think-”

“Vic I-”

“You’re seriousl-”

“Victor!”

“You have a crush on my project team mate? Already? Shercock Holmes?”

“Now hold it! I don’t! I-I just think he’s attractive, don’t you?”

Victor laughed though, loudly, because Jeremy did have a crush on Sherlock Holmes, he did he did!

Okay, maybe it wasn’t that surprising that Jeremy had a crush on Sherlock Holmes, because really, Victor hadn’t picked the project for the topic, he knew that about himself.

“Oh I can say a few good words about you if you want, I mean, you did the same for me! I’ll figure out his favourite dessert and coffee so you can steal his heart,” the ginger cooed and then sat back down in his usual seat, opening his backpack and getting out his books. He needed to finish some homework if he wanted to concern himself with extra projects, and what a better time to do it than at his favourite coffee place with caffeine in the shape of amazing hazelnut mochas?

Raising his hand, Victor ordered another piece of honey cake, then opened his book, trying to distract his mind from the bees that were practically buzzing in his thoughts.

  
*********

Three hours, fifty pages of reading, and the summarizing of two chapters later, Victor found himself walking home. It had already gotten dark, and his stomach seemed to have noticed this as well as he moved to one of the takeaway store on campus, fine with just eating something greasy for once, even though he had promised himself to go on a quinoa diet, which wasn’t working out because frankly, he found quinoa disgusting. There goes the pretentiousness of Victor Trevor, all lost by the seduction of salami pizza.

Bunnies didn’t like pizza, Victor told himself as he laid on the couch with a needy little piece of fluff trying to get closer to the cardboard box. He had to push Corcere away which caused her to kick and scratch angrily at him. Maybe it was a good idea to think about putting her back in her cage whenever he ate. The little thing only squirmed more when he grabbed her though, and he needed all the power and energy to get her into the cage, knowing she’d be a noisy nightmare for the rest of the day. What a grump.

As soon as he closed the cage he could hear his phone chiming in the other room, and he rushed over. Victor, of course, was so thrilled by the new challenge and meeting with Sherlock Holmes, that he had picked a personal ringtone for him. It was just sligtly different than his other ridiculous ones, but he recognized it.

Without bothering to apologize to Corcere again (the cutie), he rushed over to his dinner and his phone, deciding that he’d rather not choke on a piece of pizza over this. Upon reading the message, he was sure he would have been found dead later if he hadn’t thought of it, because Victor had been waiting for this moment:

 

 _From: Sherlock Holmes_  
_You’ve been friends with Jeremy for a long time, I’m assuming since your first year here. I’m trying to figure out how that happened, considering how vastly different your  interests are._

_Perhaps you initially went after him as a love interest._

**OH MY GOD.**

**You’re really doing this? YOU REALLY ARE?!**

_?  
_

_Yes?_

**GO ON THEN! Gosh deduce more! I have been waiting for this!!!**

_[delayed] This is surreal_

_This is not the usual reaction I get_

**What is the usual reaction you get?**

_Not that, if you could imagine._

**Anyway, please continue?**

  _Well. You were obviously romantically involved with Jeremy in the past, which explains why you like being affectionate towards him._

_While I haven’t seen how you interact with your other ‘friends’ (if they could even be called that; you consider them acquaintances), it wouldn’t be too big of a leap to assume that you treat them the same way._

_You’re looking to become a botanist, which explains your wild obsession with bees. Half of the plants on earth would cease to exist without them, so naturally you’d want to know about them._

_You're very passionate about what you do, and that gives you a certain pride. It makes you confident enough for you to show off your knowledge every chance you get._

_Aka: the garden you want to set up to go along with the bee hive_

_Aka: asking me to 'do my research' and talk to your teacher_

_Aka: asking me to repeat that compliment from earlier_

**What can i say, i know how to sell myself.**

_White fur on the sleeves of your shirt would suggest a pet, a small one that you’d be able to keep relatively hidden, so either a cat or a rabbit because those don’t make too much noise._

_That is against campus policy, by the way._

**Her name’s Corcere.**

_Is that some sort of bastardized Latin?_

**Cor and Cerebrum, heart and brains, sounds cute doesn’t it?**

_Hearts and brains are rather adorable._

**She’s the best combination of heart and brains.**

_I don’t think that this next one is a deduction that even has to be made, the one concerning your sexuality. You make it so obvious, you’ve got to be doing it on purpose so I won’t even bother._

**I didn’t expect you to assume i’m straight, but you’d be surprised how many people try to fool themselves assuming i’m straight. I know my grandparents did, even when i once went to their birthday WITH A BOY.**

_So generally, your family wasn’t accepting of it. I would think that your immediate family just didn’t acknowledge it either, that sort of stuff tends to be passed down from their generation._

_You didn’t come out to them right away?_

**I came out to most, others heard it from them and i had a boyfriend as my relationship on Facebook so they did, but you know how people like to turn their back to some facts. Evolution, vaccines, asexuals so on.**

_Weed having health benefits._

_Speaking of which. That is something you enjoy doing. Not so much anymore, but you used to._

**Drugs in general, if i may correct you.**

_Right._

**But generally, weed is the drug i prefer, mostly because it isn’t as harmful as all the others. Don’t try the other shit, if you’re a new bee by the way ;)**

_‘New bee’? Puns aren’t that clever, you know._

**I think that’s a good nickname for you, New bee.**

_Might I remind you that you don’t know whether or not I am a ‘new bee’?_

**If you were experienced in any way regarding drugs, you would have deduced that i had more than weed in my history.**

_With that logic, perhaps I do in fact smoke a lot of weed. That way I’d be experienced enough to know that you’ve done it._

**Dude, who doesn’t smoke weed in college, quite honestly. That doesn’t make you experienced regarding drugs, it’s as normal as smoking cigarettes, just a tad illegal.**

_A tad.  
_

_I’ve never smoked weed. What’s it like?_

**Wow, New bee is definitely going to be your nickname.**

**Ehm, it’s not that special i suppose, it just makes you more relaxed, you could see it as getting drunk but without any nasty side effects. You also get lots of cravings for food..**

_If I wanted to try it, would you be amenable to getting it for me? Obviously I can pay you back._ **  
**

**Eh i suppose i can.** **  
**

**You can come on over next week and i’ll roll some with you and we’ll smoke, what do you say?**

_All right._

_If you want to get me food, then go for Chinese._   
_Though you said cravings, those tend to be a bit unpredictable._

**You like Chinese? Good pick, i was about to suggest either hamburgers or Chinese.**

**Also, FYI, i was thinking about the project, and i’d say we can meet up this Friday to look over the first drafts. Also, make sure you have finished most of your homework when we smoke, you won’t be working for about five hours, you can see it as a night out.**

**At least i think five hours, your body type seems to be like mine.**

_The essay has already been written, you can look it over then. I believe my homework for the next two and a half weeks has already been completed, not much to worry about there._

**Damn, feel like doing mine?  
**

**Just joking, of course.**

**Also, do you mind if Corcere is with us after smoking? I promise you’ll like her, she likes to be out of her cage when i’m home.**

It’s your place, do as you wish.

**That’s lovely! Well, anything else, New bee? Any more deductions you would like to share with me?**

**I have arms, did you know i have arms? and TWO LEGS.**

**And i also know you have two legs.**

_Absolutely brilliant deduction._

_You know what I know? We both share a common hobby._

**What kind of hobby?**

_Boxing, judging by the muscles on your two arms and two legs, scars on your knuckles, a cut on your face._

**You box as well? Nice that you figured it out though! Yes, i've been doing it since i was around twelve, needed to blow off steam, you know how it is.**

_I know how energetic you are.  
_

_I started around the same age, haven’t been doing anything recently though. I play the violin more nowadays._

**You play the violin? I love the violin! Any deductions about musical instruments you have to share with me?**

_Piano. If it was your parents who got you to do boxing, then I’d assume they wanted to also get you into playing an instrument, to teach you some dicipline. Piano’s always the go-to one._

**I do in fact play piano, very skilled in quick pieces, i’ll perform for you some day.**

_Can’t wait. Do you take suggestions?_

**It depends what suggestions and when you suggest them. It approximately takes me three days to practice a new piece, so if you suggest now, i’ll be able to perform it for you later.**

_Flight of the Bumblebee. Rather fitting, isn’t it?_

**Oh darling, I have known that song since primary school.**

**You’re texting with the record keeper, actually. I can play Flight of the Bumblebee the quickest.**

_Would you like a challenge, then? It’s one of the first songs I learned as well, I can play it pretty quick._

**It depends, would you like to lose?**

_I don’t lose._

**Well i don’t either, that’s a conundrum isn’t it?**

_We’ll see._

 

Victor laughed at Sherlock’s assumption that he’d win. No he wouldn’t, no one wins over Victor at Flight of the Bumblebee. He wanted to look up at the ceiling, to throw his head back and laugh, but at that moment his eyes caught the clock and he quickly realized that he was either dreaming, or in a lot of trouble.

 

**Whoops.**

**Eh yeah so it’s two AM…**

**I have first hour tomorrow, i’m going to die.**

_Poor choice of classes. Have fun._

**Good night, New bee ;)**

_Goodnight, Victor._

 

With a laugh, Victor put his phone on charge and turned the lights off in his room. He wasn’t ready to have his grumpy Corcere keep him up all night, but he’d survive like he always did.

As he laid in bed though, he started thinking; what did he know about Sherlock now?

He knew that Sherlock was relatively new to anything regarding drugs, that he came from a posh family, and that he was more interesting than Victor had expected.

Quite honestly, Victor didn’t know what to think of William Holmes, but it was all positive nonetheless.

 

With the pleasant thought of how amazing Sherlock’s face would look when he lost to him, Victor fell asleep.

It wouldn’t make up for only six hours of sleep though.


	4. Cannabunnies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you might have noticed, Not-Victor and me change tasks every chapter. This one was written by Not-Victor and beta'd by me.

Sherlock rolled up his sleeves as he walked along one of the University of London’s many stone pathways with his head lifted to the darkening sky.

He was making the short trip over to Victor’s on-campus flat, and he couldn’t help but be envious of the fact that Victor wasn’t forced to share his living space with other people if he didn’t want. It was unfortunate, that not even the great Sherlock Holmes was able to bend the rules on that one. The only upside was that his roommate had unofficially moved into a dorm with his friends and he only occasionally stopped by to make sure that Sherlock wasn’t damaging anything that he’d have to pay for. It was an arrangement that worked, at least.

The flats were much nicer appearance-wise as well, he’d taken note of while he was left waiting in front of Victor’s door. Trimmings were a bit dirty, though that was through no fault of the students so much as administration. The building was made of brick, and the sound barriers between rooms must have been much better than that of the dorms. He’d have to test that theory out somehow, at some point. 

The first thing that he was greeted with when Victor opened up the door was a warm blast of air. The second was a peculiar raise of the eyebrows from the man himself, coupled with a quick sweep over his chest. Sherlock swallowed. Then the redhead waved him in looking vaguely amused, closing the door behind them.

“Are you comfortable in that shirt?” The shirt in question being one of his favourites, a dark blue with white marbled buttons that were, admittedly, straining on the fabric.

Sherlock had instantly narrowed his eyes at him, but he let the question hang there for a bit as he took in his surroundings. Of course he had been in other independent living quarters on campus, but none of them were quite as homely as this. While there wasn’t much space to work with as it was, Victor had made sure to use all of it to his advantage. And if he could describe the living room in a word, it would probably be _green_.

As one might expect, Victor had a couple of potted plants and flowers scattered here and there; flowers on tabletops, a taller, leafier sort on the floor next to a lamp, and a neat little row of cacti on a windowsill to top it all off. There was an old tie-dye patterned tapestry hanging over the couch that had drawn his attention as well.

Sherlock turned.

The floral backpack had been dumped back by the door along with his Oxfords, so he had been rushing around as soon as he’d gotten back from classes, meaning he’d made about half of an attempt to clean up the place a bit before Sherlock had arrived to make a good (yet casual) impression. Books and notes were still left forgotten on the edge of the coffee table, which was pretty much standard procedure around there, honestly. Used mug still on a side table with the handle sticking out to the left; Victor was left-handed, which was something that he’d already gathered back from their first meeting at Jeremy’s cafe, but of course his mind wasn’t so ready to just ignore the information.

There was a little crate in a corner near the couch draped with a blanket, which he was assuming belonged to Corcere. She was, after all, the heart and the brains of the house. One of them had to be.

It was rather endearing, looking around the room, because it wasn’t as if one would ever expect anything different from an overzealous botany major.

When Sherlock finally decided to respond to Victor’s question, it was more of a dismissive retort than anything. “Why would I wear it if I wasn’t comfortable?”

Victor pursed his lips as Sherlock took a seat on the couch, obviously unconvinced. “Hey, all I’m saying is you might’ve been better off with something looser.” He paused for a second, then clicked his tongue and gestured to the button-up, quickly getting back into motion. “You know what, I’ll be a good person and just help you out so you’re not taking that off later, because trust me, you will,” he’d said just before he disappeared into his bedroom.

He came back moments later, gently tossing a folded black t-shirt on the coffee table. Then he was gone again, rushing off to another part of the flat. Sherlock scoffed. “Oh, ehm, don’t mind me, I’m getting everything together. Make yourself at home!” Victor called out.

Sherlock had to wonder why he hadn’t just gotten everything set up beforehand, but then again it went along with that good-yet-casual vibe he was sure the other was going for.

Was Victor nervous?

As the other came back out with a large blanket tucked under an arm and a plastic sandwich bag now stuffed in a pocket, Sherlock was sure that he was. He was humming to himself as he moved some furniture out of the way, spreading the blanket out on the floor amidst all of his plants.

“We’re laying on that,” Sherlock asked matter-of-factly.

Victor troubled over straightening out the edges. Then when he stood up he flashed Sherlock a smile. “I’m trying to make this as comfortable as possible for you, so yes, we are. It’s the softest blanket I have, I promise you’ll love it.” Then he was fishing the plastic bag out of his pocket and placing it down next to the cotton t-shirt as if it didn’t mean a thing.

Sherlock watched Victor coo at the rabbit that was inside the crate scratching around and poking her nose out between the metal bars, kneeling down to get her out and holding her a safe distance away when she started fussing. Victor laughed. “Say hi to William, Corcere!”

“So that is the infamous Corcere.” He was smiling, just a bit, watching him take his white-speckled fawn-coloured nightmare to a diffferent room. “I thought she’d be better behaved.”

“Her? She’s positively spoiled and she hates being picked up, we just can’t have her in here while we’re smoking. It’s bad for them, their lungs.” Sherlock just hummed in agreement. “I’ll bring her back out later, she’ll love you.”

Naturally, as soon as Victor had his back turned, he was reaching for the bag of weed and inspecting it in his hands with scrutinizing eyes. He had just opened the bag to get a whiff of it when Victor reemerged, setting down in front of him a tan coloured box that read _Dutch Masters_. Victor only had to spare a single look at him to shake his head. “Oh, you won’t smell it that much yet, it’s more when you light it.” He then moved to sit down on the couch, and in turn Sherlock moved over about an inch to accomodate him.   

“Then we should light it.” He put the bag back where it was anyway, his attention more on the box that the other was now opening carefully. Which was a bit suspect.

“You should change your shirt first,” Victor said, and they simultaneously rolled their eyes at each other. Sherlock didn’t know what was so wrong about the one that he was wearing, to be honest, it was just a shirt. Surely Victor had no way of knowing how _he_ would respond to the drug. The redhead pulled out two wrappers, laying them down next to each other while Sherlock tried peering inside the box. He didn’t get to see much - just cigarette wrappers and the corner of something else bundled up in nondescript paper - but that short glimpse told a person like Sherlock all that he really needed to know. Victor pointedly looked to him after sealing the box. “All right. I’m going to roll them now, but seriously think about taking that off, I’m getting suffocated just looking at you.”

Offended, Sherlock leaned back into the couch. Victor had apparently had it with his stubbornness, if the black shirt being thrown at his face was indication of anything. Sherlock was pouting now, he definitely was. “I don’t want to change.”

“Oh believe me, it’s now or later when you’re high, and it’s way easier doing it when you’re thinking as clearly as possible.” Victor was giving him that pointed look again, and honestly? Sherlock didn’t want to, but if it would get him to just shut up about it, he supposed that it was better to pick his battles. And not many people got to tell Sherlock what to do, but Victor was a whole new _breed_ of different. He slowly began unbuttoning his blue shirt, laying it over the armrest closest to him with care. Then he held out the one that Victor had provided him with, raising an eyebrow at the circular graphic. ‘The Who’. If it was a joke then he didn’t get it.

He said, matter-of-factly, “I’m always thinking as clearly as possible.”

“Yeah but you’ve never done drugs before, you have no idea what it does to your head.” Victor scoffed, clearly smug that he was the more informed out of the two of them in this topic.

Sherlock ignored him in favour of quickly throwing on the shirt, flattening out the creases with a sour look on his face while also totally ignoring the fact that Victor had been staring. He’d chalked it up to a mere curiosity, even if Victor was still sneaking glances out of the corner of his eye at the dark shirt hanging over his thin frame. After a few moments of silence between them where Victor was still not looking away to focus on rolling their joints - which was the whole reason why they were there in the first place - Sherlock snapped, “What?”

“Nothing, nothing, it… just looks good on you.”

“You think this is funny? The joke isn’t even funny.”

Victor looked at him, confused. “Joke? What joke?” Sherlock grabbed the hem of the shirt and held it out for him to see the blue white and red circle in the middle of his chest, whatever it was supposed to be. And Victor just laughed at him. “You think it’s a _joke_? William, The Who is one of the biggest bands in Great Britain! They were like the fucking Beatles! If you know who they are.” A beat of silence passed between them, where Sherlock was still looking all put-out about being wrong (how terrible a lack of pop-culture knowledge could be at times), then Victor said, “You know what, let’s just smoke.” He began rolling up both of their joints on the coffee table without another word, smiling to himself. Sherlock watched him intently, mentally cataloguing the information, the steps, the technique, for future reference. He was sure it was going to come up at some point.

Then Victor was offering out one of the joints to him.

Sherlock took it, frowning at it between his fingers as he watched Victor go around the room to do a brief check of the windows and the doors, making sure that they were all closed and locked properly. Though he supposed it was inevitable that somebody was going to walk outside and smell it, but at least any evidence of it coming from this flat would be well-hidden by then. With the joint between his lips, Victor waved Sherlock over. “Come on, lie down with me.”

Sherlock quickly stuck it in his mouth as well, following the other’s example.

Once when they were both sitting on the blanket in front of each other, legs crossed and shoulders hunched forward and joints jutting out of their mouths, Victor grabbed a lighter for himself. He lit his own, puffs of smoke escaping out of the corner of his lips as he motioned for Sherlock to lean forward. Sherlock couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight, honestly, it was all so intimate. The room was so quiet. It was so warm.

The lighter clicked, then Sherlock inhaled. He figured that it shouldn’t be too much unlike a cigarette, after all they did have a couple of the same particles in them.

… He was not prepared for how harsh the smoke was. On top of that he’d accidentally inhaled a bit too much, and enough said, those two things did not make a good combination. He coughed, once, but apparently that once was alarming enough to warrant Victor moving to get him a glass of water out of his small kitchen. Sherlock didn’t think that was entirely necessary, because he was big enough to handle a bit of burning in the back of his throat, it wasn’t anything that he wasn’t used to.

Regardless, he accepted the water moments later. He was raising his chin a bit at Victor, just on principle alone because he didn’t need to be coddled like he was a child. He quickly got over it, though, then they were back to lying down on the blanket and smoking up their joints, filling up the room with bits of conversation in between.

“I don’t feel anything,” Sherlock said after a few minutes, lazily holding the joint between his fingers.

“When you drink alcohol, do you feel it immediately?”

Sherlock frowned. “I wouldn’t know, I hate getting drunk.”

He looked over to see Victor shaking his head up at the ceiling. “Such a fucking newbee, I can’t believe you.” Sherlock was all set and ready to be offended about that, because he wasn’t a newbee to smoking thank you very much, but for some reason he was finding that _difficult_. To be offended, that is.

He only really started feeling his high a few minutes later, after the clock on Victor’s wall had went around in a circle like four or five times. It was a bit fuzzy, he was getting this exhilarating headrush that left the inside of his skull feeling all fuzzy and static-y. His thoughts were still buzzing around in there as always, taking in details of the things around him, but he found that he wasn’t entirely bothered by it now. He was letting the deductions flow through naturally, accepting them for what they were with a vague sort of detachment. It was a new experience for him, it was peculiar. He liked it.

He looked curiously to Victor, whose head had already been turned towards him. He smiled, and Victor smiled back at him; it was a good smile, an amused one, did that mean Victor was happy for him? Sherlock did something weird with the corner of his lip, like a half-frown, and wow, that took longer than usual.

Then Victor looked away to take another hit, breathing the smoke out through his nose deeply. "Feels good, doesn't it? Don't worry, you’re not gonna do anything weird, and you won't lose your memory- well, maybe parts of it.." Victor sighed and stroked through his curls, and the very sight of it had Sherlock entranced. Again. He looked so peaceful. Perhaps he should try the hair thing, too, he figured that it might feel good because it usually did anyway.

He’d made sure that Victor wouldn’t catch him, but unfortunately it seemed like the marijuana was working on his reaction time; before he could finish the pleasant stroke though his own dark curls, Victor had spotted it. His lips were parted.

"Touching when you're high is good, isn't it? If you're ever with your boyfriend.. or girlfriend.. You should totally try a joint before you fuck, the sex is mind-blowing."

It made Sherlock blush all over.

After that, and after both of their joints were burnt out and the room had been cleared of all the smoke, Victor had excused himself to go retrieve both their Chinese food out of the kitchen and Corcere out of his bedroom. Sherlock hummed when the little darling was placed on top of his stomach, petting over her spectacularly soft fur. He could get used to this, if nothing else. Corcere was sniffing around his torso with her nails lightly digging into his skin through his - _Victor’s_ \- shirt, which he had to admit sort of hurt, but he wasn’t about to make her get up because of it. She was fine just where she was.

They were having little conversations that kept fading in and out between their dinner, it was hard to keep track of every little thing because their topics just kept floating away from them. He did recall one that had started off with something like, “Yeah, I don’t know what you’re into, but I do know Jeremy’s very into _you_. He’s a cool guy and if you want I can give you his number, later...” But then a particularly long, impassioned talk about bees happened and Sherlock forgot all about Jeremy and any further discussion on sexuality.

Sherlock recalled a discussion they had yesterday about the bee project, where they had come to the conclusion that they would only really be able to start on the hive once spring starts. He’d brought it up in that little chat with a mouthful of food, but they had moved on quickly to something else and he couldn’t seem to find a pattern to it all.

It was relaxing, not paying full attention to every single little thing all the time.

Then they’d gotten back to how it was Sherlock’s first time ever doing something like this, and that led into the show-off listing off everything that he _did_ know about the consumption of marijuana, just to get Victor to shut the hell up and stop calling him a newbee. Honestly, where did that nickname even come from? He wasn’t _that_ inexperienced. Was he?

Somewhere in the middle of his list was the fact that weed more often than not magnified a few big aspects of one’s personality, and it registered that the reason their conversations might have been skipping all over the place was because Victor had an extraordinarily short attention span. He announced that aloud, too, and it made Victor laugh.

When he got to another specific point in his rant, it sort of just spiralled into something else, naturally. Blame his curiosity and Victor’s lack of mirrors. “... I know it also dilates your blood vessels, thus the arteries in your eyes expands, that’s what gives you the bloodshot eyes. How red are my eyes?”

Victor squinted at him, and _his_ were, sort of. That was when Sherlock noticed just how close they were to each other, how comfortable he felt when, in any other state of mind, he would be feeling the exact opposite. Corcere was existing between their bodies, in the little cocoon of warmth they’d made while Victor was examining his eyes with this sort of intensity that reminded Sherlock of himself. “They’re pretty.. red.”

“Yeah but _how_ red?”

“Red like this one shirt I was wearing the other day.”

“I don’t know what shirt you were wearing the other day.”

“Yeah, you wouldn’t.”

“Oh.”

That conversation didn’t bother him in the slightest, it just made him want to laugh. So he did, gripping his stomach and leaning closer into Victor through his chuckles, gently pushing him on the shoulder. Victor was laughing with him, too. It was all great fun, and Sherlock felt so at home in Victor’s tiny living room surrounded by a bunch of plants, with a stomach full of Chinese food and bunny now poking around his side. The only thing was that the shirt was getting a biiit too uncomfortable. He didn’t know if it was the temperature of the room or just the way it felt against his skin, but he really wanted to take it off.

Then Victor nudged him back on the shoulder. “So, what? You like it so far?”

Sherlock shrugged, smoothing a hand down the design on his chest. “It’s, calming. I think you were wrong.”

“Wrong? What the hell are you talking about, Will.” His eyebrows were furrowed and he was playing with his hair now, considering that Corcere was paying more attention to Sherlock at the moment.

“The shirt.”

It took Victor a few seconds to process the meaning, and even when he did, it wasn’t even what he was talking about. “Oh my god it’s not a joke, I swear to you. They’re a band and they’re one of my favorites, they’re kinda weird so I think you’ll love them too.”

“No, no I mean the _shirt_ , it’s getting hot-”

“ _People_ try to put us d-down!” Victor was singing loudly over him now, raising both of his hands up in the air to punctuate the lyrics. “Talkin’ bout my generation!” He broke out of song for a moment to roll over on his side a bit, pointing a finger at Sherlock. “Okay no wait, this is going to be fun- every time I point at you I want you to say what I just did: _‘talkin’ bout my generation’_ , just like that, okay?”

Sherlock’s attention was on Victor now because that was just so out of the blue. He kept his hand placed over the design on his chest, absently stroking it with his fingers. He nodded his head, and Victor cleared his throat to start all over again. “ _People_ try to put us d-down!” He enthusiastically pointed to Sherlock again.

“Talkin’ bout my generation..” Sherlock said a bit out of tune, a bit uncertain. Victor seemed to _love it_ though. He was smiling so widely and singing so confidently.

“Just because we, get around.” Another finger pointed at him. Sherlock did it again, why not humour him:

“Talkin’ bout my generation..” This was about when Sherlock made quick work of sitting up and taking off the shirt, trying to throw it back on the coffee table, but that didn’t end up how he wanted it to and now it was just sitting dejectedly on the floor. Looks like his hand-eye-coordination had been compromised as well.

“Things they do look awful c-c-cold!”

It took him a second to realise that Victor was singing his part. The next one lagged behind a bit while he laid back down next to the other on the blanket. “Talkin’ bout my generation..”

“I hope I die before I get old… This is my generation, this is my generation baby!”

Corcere was hopping back onto Sherlock’s chest now, and Victor was still singing the rest of the song to him, with his eyes darting over to Corcere then over his bared chest. Sherlock didn’t mind. At least Victor didn’t expect that stupid chorus out of him again, he was soulfully doing that part all by himself. Corcere’s nails were hurting him even more now that there was no shirt between them, and he had to gently put her someplace else where she wouldn’t get upset with him. He settled into Victor’s warmth.

He was smiling, though, moving his head to the song that Victor was still singing. He had a rather nice voice, didn’t he? He murmured that information to him, and Victor had even taken pause long enough to ask him to repeat that. Sherlock chuckled.

He knew that he’d remember most of this in the morning, but if by some off chance there was one thing he’d have to choose to remember out of this night,  _this_ was definitely it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song that was sung by Victor is My Generation from The Who, you should totally check them out!


	5. Eye Candy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nanowrimo and exams are around the corner for us right now, so let's see how long it takes for the next one. For now, please enjoy a chapter of an impressive word count of 4766 *bows dramatically* thank you.

_Was William gay?_

He had ignored that earlier comment about sex, and Victor was now mentally scolding himself for not picking one gender in particular to see how he'd respond. As he laid on that blanket watching his new friend settle comfortably into the warmth of his body, he tried to figure it out on his own, but there were no signs other than Sherlock's apparent lack of unease with another guy having a big crush on him. At least he was okay with gay people, now Victor just hoped that the other wasn't straight; for as much as they are great, he preferred some more gays in his life, and especially this one.

He had breached the subject as bluntly as possible and he knew it. He tried to find the right words to formulate it better, to explain how relevant this was, but his brain just wasn't cooperating. All he came up with was, “So, what _are_ you?” The younger guy was already shifting in his arms to look up at him.

"Very high," he muttered, clearly unaware. This didn't help Victor with finding the right words, and that amazing joke (according to his drugged-out mind) only served to distract him further.

With a brief chuckle, Victor was able to explain what he meant, although he had to retry twice after he had forgotten the right wording. "No but I mean, in the way that I am gay, what are you?"

"Does it really matter?"

"It depends, does it make you uncomfortable that I ask?"

"No, just.. No one has ever made me consider it."

"So you don't know?" A spark of hope popped up in his mind, and he was sure that Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the expression of delight that crossed Victor's face. If you have any doubts about your sexuality, according to him, there was a big chance that you are, in fact, in some way queer, and he meant that in the nicest way possible.

"I don't." Sherlock smiled afterwards. "All I know is that I'm not very interested in women. While I am fascinated by their personalities, and their biology and their psychology, it doesn't go much further than that." He paused. "There was this one thing when I was much younger, but that ended after I got upset at her for getting stung by a bee, because that _killed_ it."

That made Victor laugh. Ah, the formative years of queer people who weren’t yet aware of anything other than heterosexuality. He had had his girlfriends, a few even. Even with the other side, he was a real heartbreaker. "Would you like to find out?"

"What, if I'm attracted to guys? And if I'm not?"

"Then that's what you have, there is no wrong sexuality, New bee."

Sherlock's nose scrunched up adorably whenever Victor called him that, so he made a mental note to say it as often as possible. He'd like to see that some more. With a brief pause, Sherlock buried his face once again in the blanket half-wrapped around Victor.

"I'd like to find out."

This rewarded Sherlock with a stroke through his curls that both enjoyed immensely, and with the most mischievous glint in his eyes, Victor started planning.

*********

'The plan' was nothing more than a lucky combination of events; Victor knew that after midterms, people really felt like celebrating the prospect of spring and freedom. He knew of a particular party that was planned by one of his friends, one that he had been looking forward to for quite a while. It had a strict non-heterosexuality rule; of course, even if Sherlock ended up not liking guys as much, he was still welcome. Any letter in the LGBTQA+ technically was.

He grabbed his phone the day after they had tried out the weed, as soon as dates were talked about and everything was clearly planned.

**So, ready to experiment next weekend? Let's go to a party!**

Victor was blessed that Sherlock was just as glued to his phone as any other teenager, and within two minutes, he got a reply.

_I'm not one for parties, Victor._

He had forgotten, it seemed, but Victor couldn't blame him. They had talked about so many things of varying importance, so it was almost to be expected.

**I promised to find a plan to make you experiment with your sexuality. A friend of mine is giving a party next saturday, a queer one! So, ready to experiment, Sherlock the scientist?**

This time, the answer took a little longer. In Victor's fantasy, Sherlock was now flipping through his schedule to see if he'd be able to pencil it in. He could almost see him lick his finger and hear him flip the pages.

_As long as we smoke at yours first, and you pay for dinner._

That was.. an acceptable counteroffer, Victor felt like it was worth it. If it meant helping somebody to figure out their sexuality, it was worth every single bit of his energy.

**Six PM, Dress nicely and loosely this time, and do prepare yourself for lots of attention, New bee. You're eye candy.**

*********

The week passed even slower than it usually did now that Victor had something to look forward to. And because of some recent developments in the bee project with Sherlock, he barely needed to talk with him about it. The blueprints of the hive were, after a night of loads of coffee and eraser dust, finally done and sent almost immediately to a woodworker a town over. Furthermore, panic baking season was over, meaning that Victor needed to bring himself to bake cookies now. He was saving that for the weekend, although all icing and forms were already planned out perfectly. Sherlock would be proud of him.

Then, the day of the party finally came, and even though Victor still had some homework to finish, it just didn't work out. It was going twice as slow as usual, and it didn't help that he was already easily distracted.

When Victor was finished dressing for the party, he looked at the clock in despair; he had thought he would _at least_ need half an hour to dress, then he had given himself fifteen minutes to do his hair and another fifteen minutes if it became a disaster. All by all, his careful planning had made it possible that he was now dressed with the amazing time of... 50 minutes left. Nice.

Actually, it wasn't. Victor was nervous as hell at the prospect of spending another night with Sherlock. He knew that once he was around the other he'd become less tense, but now he was just counting down the minutes and it wasnt pleasant at all. He wondered how the night would end. He somehow had a few ridiculous 'what if?'s that only made him more nervous.

_What if William likes Jeremy?_

_What if William is indeed gay?_

_What if he likes me?_

_Would I be allowed to kiss him as well?_

_How would his lips feel?_

A curt knock on the door made the other shake from his daydreams, and when he looked at the clock, he realized that it was 5:50 PM. Sherlock seemed to have preferred being fashionably early.

The door opened, Victor putting on his most charming smile as his eyes met Sherlock's, and with the most dramatically ridiculous bow he opened it wider to let the other in. "Good evening, my dearest William," he said, and he was sure he heard the other scoff. When the door was closed and the coats were put away, Victor was able to judge Sherlock's outfit, and he had actually done well!

Crap, how nice it would have been if he had to put on one of Victor's shirts again.

"Lookin' good, Will. I see you took my advice." Actually, both of them looked pretty good. And if Victor had to say so himself, they looked good _together_. Sherlock was dressed in a pair of dark trousers and the most beautiful dark blue button up, which wasn't as tight as the one from before, and his hair had some product in it to keep giving it that messy look. A pair of good ol' loafers as well and- yes, pretty good indeed.

Victor himself had been a bit more creative, wearing a maroon pair of skinny jeans and a denim button-down with the sleeves rolled up.

Sherlock was scrutinizing him as well, but it seemed like he was either aware that he had no clue which clothes were appropriate for a party, or was very pleased with the other's outfit. The latter seemed to be the case, as the corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched up. "You don't look bad yourself, though you might want to wear shoes." Before Victor could mention that they were still in his flat and he therefore didn't need them, the other had moved over to Corcere's crate, rubbing the nose that had forced itself through the little iron bars.

"You're allowed to take her out, we're eating Chinese first anyway."

Half an hour ago he had ordered exactly the same thing Sherlock had picked last time, and as predicted, just as Sherlock struggled to get his hands on the hyperactive bunny, the doorbell rang and he hurried to answer it.

Returning with a steaming bag of chinese food, Victor was amused to find that Corcere had not given up on scratching Sherlock's hands a few more times, but she was now calmly on his lap. "Stolen your heart, hasn't she?" he teased, and the brunet just glared at the bag of food in response. "Yeah yeah, food's coming." But first, a quick scratch behind Corcere's ears which, to his amusement, caused her to hide herself in Sherlock's hands further.

"So, what are you expecting to happen this evening?" Victor decided to ask in the most professional voice he could, as if they were having a job interview. Sherlock was too busy stuffing his entire face with rice, and he didn't answer until two minutes later.

"Well, you're expecting for me to realize I'm gay. Actually, you _want_ me to be gay," he muttered casually, and Victor figured that he wouldn't be able to hide such things from his new friend anyway.

"Well yeah, but I asked what _you_ are expecting." Sherlock seemed a bit annoyed that Victor wasn't impressed or flustered by his deductions, but then again, it wasn't a secret that he already had a fondness for the younger guy.

"Considering that it's an experiment, I'd expect a proper conclusion as to my sexuality." Professional as ever, what a surprise.

Eating was mostly done in silence, even though they occassionally chatted about nonsense that had nothing to do with the thrilling night they were about to have. Corcere was a lovely topic for this, the bunny who was willing to wait patiently until Sherlock was done eating to make him pay some more attention to her. In comparison with Victor, Sherlock was as relaxed as a bloody sloth. It was better for the bunny's mental health, certainly.

"Yeah, I had been complaining about not having pets for a while, and then my parents thought it would be funny to give me an animal to care for as soon as I left home," Victor explained, and Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "It's a metaphor, if I can take proper care of a bunny, I will be reminded to take proper care of myself as well! Mum did the same with a plant; it's still alive to this day actually, it shows independence."

Sherlock obviously felt like this was ridiculous, but then Vic pointed at Corcere, digging into her fur with his fingers until a part of her back was shown, her skin particularly light where a wound had been when he'd first gotten her. "She's a poor soul, my parents adopted her after she was taken away from an abusive owner, might be the reason why she's a bit shy sometimes." He smiled proudly. "You'd barely notice, huh? I did all I could to make her at home, the cutie." And of course, this was the moment where she made a particularly non-cute attack on his fingers, causing the other to laugh. She was loved, and he hoped Sherlock knew this.

*********

Sherlock sucked at rolling joints; it was one of the most amazing things Victor would learn that day. He was sure he had seen the other observing the way he'd rolled the thin paper the first time they'd smoked, but apparently observing wasn’t the same as learning. Victor wasn't one to really be rude and laugh at other's failures, but after the cannabis fell out of Sherlock's joint for the third time, he couldn't help but snort a little bit, quickly rolling his own before helping the other.

Corcere was put away in Vic's bedroom again, which was more of a struggle now that she had grown very fond of resting on Sherlock's leg. They were ready to get high. There were some differences from last time though, both were settled in front of each other, feet and legs touching as Victor lit the joint, and indeed just like last time, it felt just that bit more intimate. 

Sherlock didn't choke on his first drag from it, either.

Even moreso, Victor found that Sherlock had become more comfortable around him than he had first expected. Not only did he seem to trust the other more, but the thin line of distance that existed between them was slowly starting to disappear. That was something that pleased Victor. He had always been more of a physical guy than anything, he liked showing people his emotions through touches as opposed to words. Sherlock had even given him the honour of running his hand through those dark curls. That was something he hadn't offered politely, but Victor didn't mind when the other had just pushed his head against one of his hands, ordering him to "brush through it."

He supposed it was to be expected, that Sherlock wouldn't really 'melt' at the touch, yet he'd hoped otherwise. Blame Victor's hopeless romantic tendencies, he just watched too many old movies to think this person would be anything other than the snarky bastard who wrote that advertisement.

They had to truly bring themselves to stand up after the drug got into their systems, because the blanket and the couch just felt so so good, and so did the other, and so did Corcere who had been brought in as soon as the smoke was out of the flat. It was suddenly a struggle, to even think about putting the poor bunny away for the night, about putting on their coats and grabbing their other possessions and actually walking to the party. After a few ' _we should really go to the party now_ 's and they actually finally got up.

The cold winter evening only made it less attractive as they left Vic's flat. "You know, we could still go back," Victor had even muttered after walking for about five minutes in the cold wind, causing his nose to get awfully stuffed and red. Unfortunately for him, one of Sherlock's biggest personality traits was that once he got focused on something, he'd never let it go, and for now, the idea of that party was far too attractive to him to simply let it go and spend the evening high and in comfort, hopefully with Vic pressed against his side again.

"No, absolutely not, we're doing this like you promised," he had muttered back, and Victor simply shrugged it off, looking around at the way the lanterns along their path shone against the barren trees. It took them about ten minutes until they got to an old building on campus, and Vic was pleased.

*********

It was warm and more crowded inside than Victor had expected, but that happened when people held an all-gay party it seemed; any queer people who even remotely knew each other - and trust Vic, he had an entire network of them - had been invited, and there were enough students who were into these kinds of parties anyway.

"So... Feeling up for an evening of dancing and snogging guys?" Victor decided to ask bluntly while his new friend was blankly staring at the crowd in front of him, moving to the rhythm of the music that the DJ had put on, music the ginger hadn't ever heard before. It had a nice beat to it.

The guy who'd organized the party had rented out an old building on campus, then had filled it up with some old party lights and a bar. The bar in question, all the way in one of the darkened corners of the room, seemed to have been hired, and the bartender was either a good friend or hired as well. The DJ's table was also completely makeshift as far as Victor could tell; it was just a tiny bit higher than the others as it had been placed upon a few small tables, with a Macbook in front of him.

Nonetheless, Vic wasn't unimpressed; the guests and proper music was what made a good party, wasn't it? And the guests... Oh he loved them. He had already spotted a few of his friends, and was just reaching for Sherlock's wrists when he realized that the other was already a few meters off. "Wait! Don't go yet! I should introduce you to some people first," he called over the music, and even with the other being nearly hypnotized by the moving bodies on the dance floor, he was able to pull Sherlock back to a group of friends from his botany class.

A few girls and a few boys looked curiously at the new guy beside Victor, and when Vic introduced Sherlock to them, they grew hesitant, even a bit on-guard when Vic mentioned the names he knew the other wouldn't even bother to remember. They all seemed to know Sherlock in one way or another, and when Sherlock looked at them he just smiled calmly under the influence of the drug. "Hey, nice to meet you," he said, and they looked curiously at this quite relaxed version of the notorious Sherlock Holmes in front of them. Victor even briefly moved his arm around Sherlock's waist, and the other was still too distracted to really be bothered by it, causing some eyebrows to rise.

"So, yeah, We're doing this project on.. on bees, yeah bees! And I just wanted to intro him I suppose," he said, then glanced at Sherlock who had turned vaguely to try to get Vic's attention again.

"Did I spend enough time with your friends? Am I allowed to do what I came for? Now?" the other murmured, and Vic was perplexed to find out how skilled Sherlock still was in faking his interest. That pleasant smile had completely switched places with a bored look, and the other seemed tired of him already. Victor had even fallen for the smile and the nice words himself. "Sure, go ahead. Do text me when you leave."

"Why would I leave?"

"I... Well.. Let's just say you're eye candy."

This just made Sherlock scrunch his nose again, glancing at the interested gazes meeting him from Victor’s group of friends, and then nodded in understanding. "Ah, you mean attractive enough to get attention, how _fun_."

Vic wasn't sure why the other had sounded so sarcastic, but before he could ask, the other had winked and disappeared into the crowd.

"So, Shercock Holmes, huh? Eye candy indeed," one of his friends said, and a protective air suddenly moved over him as he turned around, his shoulders straightening. His mind wasn't clear enough to realise the consequences this would bring. All he knew was that he didn't want to see any of his friends' arms around William's waist.

"William? Sorry darling, he's mine."

He said it, he actually did, and gave the other a smug smile for it. For as much as Sherlock might find any of these people attractive, Vic was the one who had done drugs with him, and who had cuddled with him and who was doing the bee project with him. That should mean something, right? More than someone who still calls him Shercock, that's for sure.

Their shoulders slumped, and with a surprisingly graceful turn, Victor moved himself into the crowd as well. He soon found a cute boy to dance with, and even sooner forgot the entire conversation he'd just had.

Unfortunately, it did have consequences. To his surprise, his claim on Sherlock had gone through the entire party, more and more people muttering how Sherlock was Vic's new catch. As Victor danced and eventually got lost in the touches of a stranger who'd claimed his name was David, Sherlock was experiencing his first time with an actual guy, someone who was interested in him, someone who didn't seem to respond negatively to a deduction about how he’d not met his study points requirement for the year, instead just laughing and pulling the other closer.

Now Victor’s attention was pulled back to the conversation he was having with David. "Victorious? Isn't that more a name _I_ should have after catching you?"

Victor just laughed at that as his arms clumsily wrapped around the other's neck. David had charm, and he paid so much attention to him. Victor loved it, he would call himself the school slut if it didn't sound so derogatory. He was smiling as he leaned in, murmuring,  "Mm, not unless you kiss me." And as their lips moved together, Victor tasting the alcohol on the stranger’s lips, he just simply forgot about William for a bit.

The two of them moved out of the crowd soon enough when they realised that they needed some space for themselves, and Victor found himself pressed against the wall a few meters away from another couple with much the same intentions. One of them possessed a particular mess of dark curls, and when Victor curiously looked over at them as David worked on his neck, he recognised Sherlock clearly.

Sherlock recognised him two seconds later, their eyes meeting, a conversation passing between them that neither completely understood. All he knew was that he looked away in pure shyness seconds later, stroking through David's hair to encourage him, because he was the one paying attention to him far more after all. He had felt a spark of something new when they had looked at each other. Sherlock seemed to be gay, that was an understatement right now, but he also truly seemed to be the type that liked being spoiled, enjoying touches and kisses everywhere. He couldn't really keep his concentration on the guy paying attention to his neck, it seemed; all he wanted to do was look at Sherlock and watch how he responded to such affection.

He heard parts of the conversation between Sherlock and the other guy, and had his fucking breath taken away at one particular moment, which was fortunately seen as a good thing by David, who had insistently pressed his body against Victor’s and should’ve been getting that attention. David chuckled. "Feels good, huh?"

Vic just needed a moment to really realise what was going on before he nodded. "Uhuh."

  
"My name's Sherlock, by the way."

"Ah, my name's Justi- Wait, are you not Victor's? I've heard someone talk about you?"

"Not that I’m aware of, no."

"I... Eh.. I think I’m just gonna go, okay?"

"We're not together!"

"No! It's just, I-I had to go anyway!"

Victor quickly buried his face into David's shoulder when Sherlock’s guy moved past them, and when he risked a look back, he was met with a glare and all Vic could do was smile apologetically. The other just sighed in exhaustion and return into the crowd. Right at that moment though, David seemed done with him being such a distracted type and made sure that Victor would pay attention to him, letting their lips meet. "You know, we could go to my flat... Have some time together..." the other tried, and Vic looked curiously at him, giving him a sweet smile. What a cutie, for all he knew from his memory, the last one at such a party had only wanted to give him a blow job in a public bathroom, and this one actually wanted to take him home!

He had to decline though, for as much as he wanted a piece of the guy in front of him, he was simply not the reason why Vic was there. William was.

"I'm sorry dear, I have to decline. I have some other stuff to do, and you know how times are, with exams and such... You're wonderful though, I love the way you touch me but... You know, no simple shag out of me tonight."

The other seemed disappointed, but not particularly discouraged, and before he could suggest anything or excuse himself the guy held his hand out. "Can I put my number in your phone?" And Vic found it a good idea, why not? So he gave him his phone and waited for the other to add his number impatiently. Then he pulled him in for another deep kiss, giggling as the other shamelessly took a grip on his butt.

He found Sherlock five minutes later, dancing with another guy that had gotten more into Sherlock than Sherlock had gotten into him, and Vic knew that, for as much as Sherlock may have been angry at him, he would probably appreciate a way out of this one. Forcing himself through some dancing couples, he reached Sherlock and just turned him around, once again giving him that trademark smile. "Heya, enjoying the boys?" he asked, and Sherlock raised his shoulders in annoyance.

"I might have if you hadn't claimed me. What the fuck Vic."

Victor actually found himself laughing, his hand on Sherlock's waist to keep him close in the crowd of moving strangers. "So, guys?"

"Yes."

And with that, Vic found himself content. "I apologise William, I just didn't want some kids from my friend group to get with you, but apparently they told almost everyone?" It didn’t look like this was enough of a proper explanation for Sherlock, but he nodded nonetheless, fully turning to dance with him.

"Where is your guy?"

"In my phone as a number right now, ditched him for you. Do feel special." That made Sherlock laugh, which was always a good thing. Vic praised himself for it.

Now the evening was made, in Vic's eyes. They spent a good amount of time dancing together and spending time with friends, just casually touching a bit more than he suspected people normally would, but not any way in distaste. Sherlock had muttered an excuse that 'he didn't want to date a dropout now anyway', yet hadn't desired to comment on his fondness of touching Vic. Vic didn't need an explanation, he was just happy with whatever he got. And according to him, they did have chemistry, more than others certainly.

The evening came to an end, though, and Vic didn't find the party as satisfactory as he’d thought before; blame the ideas and little expectations he’d gone in there with. Sherlock seemed more up for it than he did previously, and at one simple moment, the ginger paused his dancing to pull Sherlock in for a kiss.

It was as much as he’d expected, honestly. Sherlock's lips were wet and still swollen from snogging the other guy, but oh so soft and Victor knew how beautiful they were. He admired the way his upper lip could feel Sherlock’s perfect cupid's bow, he admired how he just felt like melting into it completely.

Sherlock's lips were all he had expected from it, really, and it seemed to drag out forever until the other stopped moving his lips a bit, and Victor forced himself to pull away, licking his lips and glancing at the other, who had a pretty blank look on his face that gave away nothing. "Oh come on, I had to experience it for myself,” he said, winking.

Sherlock snorted. "You are ridiculous, Victor Trevor."

"That’s _Victorious Trevor_ to you, eye candy,” he corrected, and with that, they fell in a fit of giggles with their hands lazily placed on each other's hips.

  
And from a corner of the room, a stranger smiled at these two guys and thought to himself, ' _Oh how smitten they are_ '.


	6. A Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Victor**   
>  _Sherlock_

Sherlock ran his fingers over his bottom lip as he sat there, elbows propped up on the table and lost in thought. He’d been staring straight ahead at an empty chair, just barely keeping Victor in his peripheral vision as the other stood around at the front counter waiting for their drinks.

It was complicated.

Thinking back to that night wasn’t entirely bad, if he was being honest. Of course he’d been put in a bit of a bad mood when Victor staked his claim on him and proceeded to ruin a good portion of his night, yet he had gotten the information he’d went there for. Now he knew for certain that he was interested in men.

Except, he’d found the answer more in the feel of Victor’s lips than anything.

The soon-to-be college dropout he’d been talking with was only fleetingly interesting to his drugged-out mind. He remembered disliking whichever train of conversation they had been on at the time, and he remembered being shoved up against a wall, and he very clearly remembered turning and staring right into Victor’s eyes.

He’d felt nervous at the time, being in a situation that was so foreign to him. He hadn’t really gotten the gist of the silent discussion that had passed between him and Victor, both pressed against a wall with strangers kissing down their necks, but he was sure that sudden feeling of renewed understanding had hit them both at the same time regardless.

Now, though, they were going about their days as if it never happened. Sherlock literally had no clue where they stood, what that kiss was even supposed to mean for them. He was in a weird mood over it, he couldn’t seem to settle on which way he felt about the whole thing. All he knew was that he was questioning things, and that was just not something Sherlock Holmes did. He didn’t like it.

Then Victor was in his actual line of sight again, pulling him out of his mind as he placed down their drinks with that ever-present smile of his. “Hello there. Jeremy’s supposed to be joining us when he goes on break, so let’s make this quick.” Sherlock wrapped his hands around a cup while Victor made himself busy with retrieving his laptop out of that ridiculous floral backpack. A couple of rainbow roses greeted him when Victor opened it up. He really didn’t expect anything less to be on the casing of Victor’s personal laptop.

“All right,” Victor began, making a show of cracking his knuckles. “So. The project. What have you gotten done?”

He immediately went scrolling through his phone, pulling up what he had written so that Victor could see if he asked. “Nearly half of the essay is written. I got sidetracked with an experiment, otherwise it would’ve been done by now.”

Victor nodded at the information, seemingly pleased with the progress on Sherlock’s end. As he should be, honestly; he’d devoted an entire hour and a half to writing when he could’ve been spending that time elsewhere experimenting with dangerous chemicals in his dorm. The latter was certainly more entertaining.

He could tell that this meeting was more for Victor to tell him all about the recent developments that he had made on his end of things, and the way he started absolutely gushing to him moments later just made Sherlock smirk over the rim of his cup.

“Well _I_ got into contact with some of the beekeepers in the area. I signed up for this membership, you get like a bunch of information - like, we’d be lucky to get any honey our first year - and you get newsletters and even a bee insurance with it! I’m telling you right now, if we’re getting a hive on campus, we’re going to be doing this right.”

Sherlock nodded for him to continue, leaning forward on his elbows. He was interested to hear more about _this_ new development.

“So, we actually need two separate hives to compare them, to see if there’s anything wrong going on with either one. And, you know, if anything _does_ go wrong with the populations we have to keep in contact with fellow beekeepers in the area.”

“You mean predators? Diseases?”

Victor scrunched up the one side of his face. “Yeah, it’s more diseases that would have to be monitored. There’s this really serious one with a parasite called varroa, it basically weakens their immune system and in that case, we’d have to call an expert to exterminate the hive.”

Sherlock hummed solemnly.

“Hopefully that won’t happen with ours anytime soon- and speaking of which, the hives should be ready to be picked up either next weekend or the weekend after that.”

Sherlock said, “Perfect, then. I’ll try calling around again for the actual bees, this way I can train them sooner rather than later.”

“Oh what, do you mean train them to attack people you don’t like?” He made a face, amused.

“Sebastian in particular, yes.”

“Which Sebastian?”

“Wilkes. Slicked back hair, big front teeth, cheats on his girlfriend, likes to argue with me. You know him.” Sherlock watched Victor’s expression change into something saddened and concerned, clicking his tongue, about to speak.

Fortunately, his saving grace came in at the perfect moment to put an end to _that_. Jeremy was stuffing some receipts into his pocket when he greeted them with a, “Hey guys,” yawning as he reached for Victor’s latte that had been abandoned next to his laptop. Sherlock was already getting ideas that involved the use of Jeremy, openly staring at him now. “I have forty-five minutes break, and honestly I have to step outside. Is there anything you need first?” he asked, then took a big gulp of the latte, placing it back down on the table.

Victor shook his head readily. He even closed his laptop, moving to grab his backpack out from under the table to put it away as he assured the other, “No, no, you’re fine, Jer. Let’s go for a walk.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, we’re actually done here for the most part. Right, William?” He said it as more of a way to get his attention as he stood up, because he’d been absorbed in something else on his phone at that particular moment.

A beat later Sherlock raised an eyebrow to him, standing up along with the other two. “For the most part.” Unlike Victor, who kept them waiting for an extra minute or two to organise his paperwork and put away his laptop and such, all Sherlock needed to do was put his phone away and grab his own half-finished cup. Then they were off.

*********

The three of them had walked together down the stone pathways, with Jeremy in the middle of two equally as tall, lanky, and elbow-y individuals.

Jeremy had reclaimed Victor’s caramel latte for himself, which was something that the redhead hadn’t seemed too thrilled about. He kept trying to steal it back, but honestly Sherlock felt like it was just a ruse to keep getting the guy to bump into him as they walked. “Jeremy, just take some of mine,” he said after the third time it happened, smiling a bit while the other two continued laughing.

Jeremy turned to look at Sherlock, which got Victor’s latte plucked out of his hands. “Really?”

“Yes.”

He almost immediately turned his stare down to the cup Sherlock had offered out to him, reaching out for it. “I don’t even like them that much, but thank-”

Sherlock pulled it out from his grasp.

There was a dumbfounded silence for a couple of seconds, then the other two nearly fell over in laughter.

Soon enough the group found themselves sat on one of the glossed wooden benches along the sides of the paths, about five minutes away from Jeremy’s cafe. Jeremy was in the middle again, squished between a sprawled out Victor and a Sherlock who just seemed to always take up as much space as possible wherever he went. Sherlock started shaking his head in the middle of a dip in their conversation. “You don’t even like lattes..” he murmured while the other two giggled some more.

“I was just messing with him, he does it to me all the time... But I do like mochas better, you can barely even taste the coffee.”

“Liar. You can taste it.” Sherlock was still grinning when he checked the time on his phone, reporting it back to them. Twenty more minutes, that meant.

Their conversation moved elsewhere, on to the topic of bees and the party they’d went to with a bunch of banter and laughs shared between them. Sherlock was turned completely in Jeremy’s direction, an elbow resting over the back of the bench and a leg tucked under the other one as he talked. Yes he was flirting with Victor’s friend, and yes he was so doing it on purpose. If Victor wanted to go around getting involved with anybody he felt like, well, then, why couldn’t he? Victor had been the one to tell him that Jeremy was interested in the first place.

In their conversation, Sherlock had been the one to share the information first, how the whole point of that party was to figure out his sexuality. Then it just went on from there. “... Yeah, so guess what,” Victor said expectantly, and Sherlock watched him shift around to a different position, his back straightening out. “That means Sherlock’s officially one of us.”

The other two did little cheers in his honour. Sherlock scoffed. “According to Victor, I’ve apparently also joined the masses by smoking pot. Maybe next time you can join us,” he said, directing that last part at Jeremy, who was still smiling over to him. He and Vic even lit it up together a few days ago, the last time they hung out.

Victor spoke up before the other got the chance to do so. “Oh no, Jer doesn’t do that anymore. He prefers to live vicariously through me nowadays.”

“Then I think you should know that shirts get very uncomfortable on me.” Sherlock was giving him that look, and a cute little blush darkened his cheeks. Victor tapped him on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry, you’re not missing out on much. He’s like a seven.”

Jeremy murmured, “I think he’s more like a ten.”

“What are you-”

Victor protested loudly over Sherlock, “ _Absolutely not_! Do you know what a ten is, Jer? Do you?!”

Jeremy was audibly holding back a laugh as he said, “Chris Hemsworth, I know!”

“His score is even lower than a seven with his shirt off!”

Sherlock had pretty much no idea what they were talking about, but what he did know was that he should be offended about that. He was sitting there side-eyeing Victor, but at least Jeremy was on his side: “Why, just because you say so? I don’t think he’d be lower than a seven, honestly, I’d have to see it for myself.”

Sherlock turned his head back to regard Jeremy with the raise of an eyebrow. “That can be arranged.”

And he hoped that Victor was as jealous as he seemed from the corner of his eye. Served him right, for dragging him into all this drama that made him question his relationship status, and especially for rating him so lowly on a scale of 1-10.

*********

**So… You and Jeremy seem to be a happening?**

 

_Depends on your definition of ‘happening’._

 

**You’re into him, aren’t you? I could see how you were flirting with him today, i don’t need to be you to notice.**

_We’ll see how it goes with him. It’s not like it matters, does it?_

 

**It kinda does, to be honest. Jeremy is my friend and he’s literally an angel on earth, gotta know if you’re playing with him or not, don’t you think?**

 

_Wouldn’t we all like to know that._

 

**You’re avoiding the question.**

_Do you think I’m playing with him?_

 

**Still avoiding the question but i admit, i have my suspicions.**

 

_Then you can put your suspicions to rest, I’m not that interested._

 

**If you’re not that interested and you’re flirting with him like that, you’re playing him, William.**

 

_So what was the kiss?_

 

**You kissed Jeremy?**

_Are you an idiot? I’m talking about the party._

 

**Ohhh… You’re talking about THAT kiss.**

**Did you think it felt good? You’re actually a good kisser!**

**What do you wanna know?**

 

_Was that also ‘playing me’._

 

**Ah no. We both knew that was nothing, right? I mean, we both kissed about five people at that party?**

 

_I suppose._

 

**It was just to try out, you know, it really meant nothing, i kissed Jeremy hundreds of times when we were still friends, never a problem!**

**Not that you’re Jer.**

 

 _No I’m not Jeremy, obviously, he’s not looking for something tangible._   
  


**I don’t know what you mean?**

 

_You know I only hang out with you for the drugs, right?_

 

 

 

**Yes.**

**Of course i do, you never really mentioned it, but i did know.**

*********

Sherlock just didn’t have anything else to say after that. The whole thing left a bad taste in his mouth, left him feeling dissatisfied in a way that made him wish he wasn't so antagonistic.

Well. Antagonistic, confused, hurt, they were all practically synonymous, weren’t they?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Tangible was a word we just NEEDED to use after i forgot it, so just to know... I spent a good ten minutes trying to find that word in my Marketing book.  
> Fun fact II: The mocha incident is a real story, don't trust coffee drinkers.


	7. Intangible Victor Trevor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> intangible  
> ɪnˈtan(d)ʒɪb(ə)l  
> adjective  
> unable to be touched; not having physical presence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for this being a little bit later than the usual update! i (ramonaflowersz) had quite a tough test week to get through. I hope it was worth the wait <3  
> ps: I can totes reccommend to listen to Campus by Vampire Weekend, it fits quite well  
>  _Sherlock_  
>  **Victor**

_I did know_

No he hadn’t, not at all. He had no clue whatsoever that Sherlock had used him in any way. For all Vic had known, the other might have just been trying to keep up his ‘cool façade’ but, he had genuinely felt something, right? A friendship, at the least? No one would let themselves be kissed for drugs, right?

Victor could literally slap himself for that. Of course people kissed for drugs, people sold their _bodies_ for drugs when they didn’t have the money they needed, so why wouldn’t Sherlock be nice and kind to him, and willing to go to parties, if it meant free drugs?

Victor honestly didn’t know how to feel about it, all he knew was that their situation, or their friendship, wasn’t.. existent anymore. It was a shame and frankly ridiculous that Victor had ever expected that kiss to be real. He had, panicked, when Sherlock had asked. What could he have said otherwise? ‘William I honestly hoped you would declare your undying love for me after that kiss, and that maybe we could become something’?

It would have been way more disastrous than what had actually happened.

Ah well, Victor thought, at least now he knew what Sherlock was really expecting to get out of their relationship. Damn his willing mind to fantasize things that had never been there.

*********

The redhead grabbed his phone with harsh breaths still escaping him and with boiling blood still streaming through his veins. It was stupid to let Sherlock get away with this, wasn’t it? Of course, he had just been nice enough to get what he wanted, completely free of any obligations to be with Victor and he knew there would be no consequences as soon as Victor found out. It was not as if Vic could call off the building of the hives, although he wished he could.

No, Victor was a certain kind of cruel; he’d rather go the passive-agressive route with such things. He wouldn’t make it obvious with big statements, but with small ones until the other snapped in half. That would work better, he hoped.

He went to his contacts and, without even a brief moment of hesitation, chose the newest number in his phone.

There was some rumbling on the other line, followed by the other clearing his throat, and then the corner of Victor’s lips was raised. The other was eager, especially when he introduced himself to the person on the other end of the line. “Hey David, this is Victor, the one with the cute arse.” It was blunt, and to his amusement, the other needed a second to find his words.

Oh, boys, some were so easy.

“This is Victorious, right? How’s it going with your exams?”

“Exams? Yes, about that, that was an excuse, I had to babysit my friend that night and it was frankly embarrassing to tell you that, don’t you think?”

“I suppose… Why did you call?”

“Are you doing anything tonight?”

*********

Before the date was set to start, Victor found the courage to grab his phone again, casually bringing his plan into action.

 

**If you only wanted to have the drugs, i’d like twenty pounds in an envelope slid under the door tomorrow afternoon.**

 

It didn’t take Sherlock long to reply, and Vic could only grin a bit, amused by finally having some way of taking revenge.

 

_Excuse me? I was told it you didn’t care whether or not I paid for it._

 

**Yeah, that was before i knew you were using me, so if you want me as your dealer, you gotta pay.**

 

_When do you want it by?  
_

 

**Tomorrow morning, around twelve-ish.**

 

_Deal._

 

Victor was grinning, happy with knowing the time Sherlock would be swinging by his flat. Now he could just relax and let it all unfold.

Only two hours later, Victor was eagerly awaiting the arrival of his date in front of Jeremy’s, fumbling with his phone and going over the plans they’d made. Perhaps David would keep his mind off of things for a while. He was reasonably attractive, and he had a fairly interesting mindset, and hopefully he was also into continuing where they had left off.

Victor hadn’t unbuttoned the top two buttons on his shirt for nothing, nor had he showered and fixed his hair for anything less than that, right? He hoped that he had read the other’s intentions well.

“Heyyyy.”

Victor instantly turned around, his eyes falling on the other guy, who was dressed just a bit too carefully for his sake. Ah, so he really wanted to impress, then, how adorable. “Hey love, wanna go inside and have a drink?” he greeted, and he felt a brief déjà vu of earlier that afternoon with Sherlock and Jeremy, it was as if he could practically still taste the latte on his lips.

*********

“So, a second year student studying Business Economics, huh? How quaint, I can’t believe you can find your way through all those numbers?”

“You find your way through DNA, how do you do that?”

“Because it interests me.”

“Well, numbers interest me. But I mean, if you tell me about DNA, I’ll probably be interested in that, too.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re telling me.”

 Victor couldn't do more than let himself get pulled into the pleasant feeling of positive attention again, smiling fondly as he let out a chuckle that he hadn’t entirely faked. It had been a while since he’d allowed himself to be dragged into this attention-seeking behavior so readily, but it was so easy to fall into, and it felt pleasant.

 "Come here,” he muttered, moving over to settle closer to David and pecking his lips, an arm lazily wrapping around his neck, yet it wasn't long until David pulled away. "Hm?" The ginger tried to get his attention, still close enough that the tips of their noses were brushing together.

 "Would you like to go?"

Victor smirked. "My place, please." David didn't even bother to hesitate, as Victor liked them to. The sooner Victor would have him undressed beneath him, the better, he figured. That’s what he was there for.

 He paid, ignoring David's offer to do so. He made sure that the other 'paid in kisses', which earned him some annoyed gazes as David just grabbed him and kissed him all over his face. Okay, he may not have been there for something permanent, but the guy sure knew how to please him. It even earned David a chuckle.

 With a bit more eager encouragements and chaste kisses, Victor managed to get his new catch outside and in the direction of his flat, whistling a soft melody as the other just held him by his arm, murmuring compliments in his ear. It slowed them down on their walk, but Vic couldn't really be blamed for wanting to hear more, right?

Nonetheless, Victor thought that David seemed impatient. His suspicions were confirmed the moment Vic put the key in the lock; a firm body sought attention by pressing flush against his, forcing his back against the door. Hungry lips met his, and Vic had to laugh at how different of an experience it was without him under influence; it felt good now that he could put his full attention on David. And of course, he kissed back. David seemed to have found his favourite thing about Victor’s body, emphasized by a shameless grope, and with just a little more energy Victor was able to pull them both inside the apartment so the neighbours wouldn’t get to see them. David.. seemed like the type to undress him right there in the hallway.

 The other’s lips were rough, eagerly parting and trying to bite and nip Victor’s, and all Victor could really do was give in, his muscles relaxing one by one and letting himself be held. Hands stroked over scarred and rough skin, tracing over them to keep the other encouraged.

It wasn’t really surprising then, that David’s hand was soon unbuttoning his shirt, and with a smug grin, Victor covered the hand with his own. “Let’s move this to the bedroom, shall we?”

*********

Victor awoke to the feeling of a warm and strong arm wrapped around his waist and with David snoring softly in the crook of his neck. He closed his eyes again to stay in the moment. Hmm... For someone he met at a party, David learned all the right ways to make him happy quite quickly. Nonetheless, it had become too warm under the blanket, pressed against another glowing body that was certainly sweating as well, and when Vic looked at the time, he only became more motivated to shake the other awake.

Last night had been amazing. Not only had David proven himself to be a good sexual partner, but he had also been able to distract the ginger from an.. unkind acquaintance. It hadn’t been just a quick shag; the only thing that had been quick about it was the undressing, but then David had taken his time making sure that by the time the condoms and lube were prepared, Victor had nothing but him on his mind.

He didn’t really remember what time they’d fallen asleep, but he did remember them taking a long shower together and them discussing whether or not Victor could bake waffles the next morning if the milk was about to expire. The answer was yes, possibly.  

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” Victor said, his own voice still rough with sleep. He tugged on the short hair of the other, smiling softly. “It’s waffle time.”

David, though, didn’t respond to it all that well, only sighing and opening one eye to peek at Victor. He closed it quickly to pull him even closer. “One hour..” he insisted, but Victor smirked, trying to prod him awake.

“No, it’s waffle time now.”

With another sigh, the other rolled his eyes and let Victor go. “Too hot.”

“Yeah I know, we should have gotten rid of the blanket.”

“I wasn’t talking about the blanket.”

Victor looked back at the other guy, who was lazily smiling at him, and then stood up with a chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous. Come on, get dressed and I’ll make you breakfast.”

David didn’t need to be told twice it seemed, and Victor found himself followed by a scarcely-dressed David, though he was only wearing a bathrobe and pajama trousers himself.

Waffles were made with some mild complications, but around twelve, as Victor had expected, both of them were done with waffles and David found some powdery sugar still on Victor’s lips. How cheesy, if Victor hadn’t done it for a bloody reason.

Lips met again, and with a lazy sigh, Victor followed David onto the couch for a snogging session, something that was David’s self-proclaimed specialty. Then, a buzz of his telephone brought his attention to the plan again, and Victor smirked.

It did help the plan to send Sherlock a last text before he would come over to pay for the weed.

 

**Tell me when you come, please? I do need to make sure Corcere doesn’t eat the money before i can stop her.**

 

_Sure._

 

Now it was clear that Sherlock was close to the flat, and he and David weren’t as close as Vic had wanted them to be. Fuck!

Victor, without warning, turned David around so the other was beneath him, then parted his lips. David followed in pleasant surprise and fortunately, Victor had circumstances on his side. Before he knew it, his body was pressed flush against David’s with a hand tracing the other’s side.

Footsteps could be heard, and although Vic was about to intensify the movements more, David stopped, nervous to bother any of Vic’s fellow flatmates it seemed. Not good.

Victor’s hand moved to David’s crotch. As the other guy looked in his eyes again, he smirked. “Don’t you want to let them hear how good I make you feel?” he teased, scraping his teeth on the skin on the crook of his neck, and fortunately, it was good enough to make the other moan softly. So Vic went for more. Sherlock wouldn’t be able to hear it that well if David only made those soft noises. It was his last chance to get it right.

With the most focused face in the history of his existence, Victor groped David, nipping his his neck briefly, and with that, Victor was indeed Victorious.

“OH!”

The footsteps stopped, and Victor smirked. He leaned in to peck the new mark on the other’s neck, and David just kept making it better and better with that breathy voice of his. “Christ, Vic! We should’ve just stayed naked if you were going to do this!”

“Oh, but the best part is unwrapping the present, isn’t it?”

A bit of silence between them and then, there was the soft sound of wood on paper. When Victor raised himself to look at the floor, there was a default white envelope with his name written neatly on the front, and all he could do was smile.

The footsteps started again, quicker this time as if the person was in a hurry all of a sudden. As the sound of them faded away, so did his plan, only leaving him to finish what he had started with David.

  
Maybe it wasn’t the best plan, and maybe it was a bit low of Vic to plan such things to get back at Sherlock, but then again...

_It wasn’t all fair play, was it?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> David is a temp character, otherwise he would be added to the ships, don't worry babs, we got you covered


	8. Victorian Beehives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song with this new update is Louise by Jett Rebel  
> Also, an fyi of this author to never faint while looking at a beehive, you'll fall face first into one and you will not be happy if you do not have the right protection.  
> And no, the beekeeper was in fact not happy.  
>  **Victor**  
>  _Sherlock_

The only thing Sherlock had been able to focus on for the past three days were those sounds he’d heard coming from Victor’s flat. Those absolutely sinful moans coming from a voice he had not recognised, coupled with Victor’s murmured sweet talking that had pinned his feet where they were. It’d taken him a good few moments to reboot his brain, to remember why he had been standing in that hallway in front of Victor’s door to begin with.

When he had finally caught up with himself, he’d slid the envelope under that door just as quickly as he’d fled.

He knew that he didn’t have much grounds to be upset with Victor, it wasn’t as if they’d ever been a thing, yet it sent his brain into overdrive all the same. Sherlock wasn’t able to focus on his experiments for more than a few minutes, he wasn’t able to focus on his (extraordinarily dull) coursework at all, hell, he wasn’t even able to focus on getting to sleep. Given, two thirds of those were already pre-established issues, but they’d taken a turn for the worse in recent days.The worst part about it was that he didn’t understand why. _Feelings_ weren’t quite his area of expertise.

He was sat at his desk, staring loathefully across the room to his phone, past tall stacks of books and equally as tall stacks of containers with potentially-hazardous material inside of them with his knees pulled up to his chest and his shoulders raised. He soon came to the realisation that he would have to be the one to break their radio silence. He wasn’t expecting Victor to be the one to do it, either; Victor had made it explicitly clear that he wasn’t interested in talking with him unless it was about their project.

Sherlock supposed that he had dug his own grave on that one.

There were some loose ends to be finished up in regards to their project, though, things that he stilll had to get back to Victor on. He mentally filed through their list, tapping his fingers along the top of his desk.

Ah, the actual bees. They were still sitting on that part, but Sherlock had always been the impatient type when it came to stuff such as that. It took him some digging around, a few phone calls and a few emails, but eventually he did come across what he was looking for; a facility that specialised in removing problem hives, that had also agreed to what Sherlock was proposing.

 

_I’ve gotten in contact with a place that will provide us with bees as soon as they are available._

 

He flipped the phone around in his hand for a bit after he’d reluctantly sent that text message to Victor. It was bland by every means, just the necessary information and nothing more, because that was what Victor had asked for, had he not? Sherlock eyed up the experiment that he’d left on the side of his bed, desperate for a distraction while he _did not_ wait for a reply back from him.

When Victor did finally get back to him some forty-five minutes later - a lesson in patience, he supposed that’s what that was - Sherlock had to wash his hands very, very thoroughly before he even thought of picking up the phone from the random spot he’d left it in his haste.

 

**Great to hear! I actually just got news that the hives are ready for pick up, and I made an appointment to get them for today.  
**

**I’m picking you up in half an hour.**

 

There was no warning with that, no questions asked. It just was. Sherlock was upset that he didn’t mind it. And he absolutely loathed the thought that he’d have to pretend like he didn’t mind any of what happened a few days prior. Victor had to have known what he was doing when he brought that unknown guy back to his place; he’d timed it perfectly with those text messages, and Sherlock was convinced that there was no way the incident hadn’t been premediated.

The one question that kept his brain going round and round in circles for a whole three days was why. _Why_ , exactly, would it have been premediated?

For the next half hour, Sherlock found himself in a state of unease. He was rushing to find socially acceptable clothes for when your friend-slash-not-friend was forcing plans upon you, eyeing up at least four different articles of clothing as he stood restlessly in front of his tiny closet. All of these sophisticated button-downs in all these different colours- maroon, cobalt blue, black, emerald green that he would most likely match with a pair of dark-wash jeans... He didn’t like the idea of any of them.

Smoothing his hands down the clothes that he was already wearing - grey sweatpants and a t-shirt - he figured that he wasn’t trying to impress anybody in particular. Thus the sweatpants were socially acceptable. And if they weren’t, well, then that wasn’t his problem, was it?

He stood in front of a mirror, swaying from foot to foot as he played around with his wild curls. He was hoping to tame them just a bit to make up for his state of dress because he just knew that Victor would keep up with his usual style. The more Sherlock thought about it, the more he noticed that their dress styles were very similar in many ways, the only distinct difference between them being the number of ridiculous patterned items Victor owned that Sherlock would never wear in a million years.

He was startled a bit at a car horn. Then he saw his phone screen light up with a new message from Victor, and Sherlock made a sound of frustration.

He ruffled his hair just to muss it up for good measure, ruining all of his progress in getting it to relax. Standing in front of his mirror for a few extra seconds, he gave his reflection a once-over to decide just how much he liked how he looked. Which was a lot, actually, like he just rolled out of bed. Then he gave it an indecipherable narrowing of the eyes when the car honked at him again.

Peeking out of his curtain revealed a posh two-door idling in front of his building, obviously Victor being annoying on purpose when he double honked a-fucking-gain. Sherlock gathered all of his stuff in a fit of rage, shoes barely slipped onto his feet by the time he managed to slam the door behind him and hurry outside to meet the other before he decided to press down on that horn of his for a fourth time.

He had to restrain himself from throttling Victor as soon as he sat down in the passenger seat of his car.

At least he’d turned off whichever Katy Perry song that had been on the radio. "Hey darlin', long time no see. I see you’ve dressed up for the occassion?"  Victor lowered his red shades at the same time Sherlock rolled his eyes. He was lounging in his seat with one elbow hanging out the window, clicking his tongue disapprovingly at Sherlock’s outfit. Victor himself was dressed in red skinny jeans that matched his shades, the same shades he flicked back up as they pulled away.

“I hope I didn’t rush you out, but you just seemed a bit impatient.” When Sherlock didn’t give him a verbal response, he reached out to press a dark red button. The car whirred loudly. It took a moment for Sherlock to look up and find the roof sliding back; it was a convertible.

He was impressed, glancing over to find Victor smiling wide. It was an uncharacteristically warm day in London that marked the start of spring, white clouds against an endlessly blue sky that Victor lifted his head to. Wind whipped his hair about his face as they drove, sunshine bathing his features, and Sherlock could see the slightest hint of freckles dusting across his cheeks.

Victor looked like he could’ve been one of those models on the cover of a summer fashion magazine, the best-looking one out of a whole lineup. Then again, he was the type of person who could make just about anything look good on him.

That was why Sherlock couldn’t help but stare at his side profile.

“So, did you do anything fun over the weekend?” he asked.

Sherlock’s face was carefully blank as he nodded his head. “Acid experiments. Very simple, I was bored.” Victor hummed in acknowledgement, a small smirk flashing across his face a second later. It made Sherlock seethe. “I didn’t do much of anything, unlike yourself.”

“Oh? What do you mean by that?”

“Based on deductions alone, you’ve enjoyed the company of at least one person within the last few days.” Before Victor could ask any asinine questions, he gestured to a spot on his own neck. “Hickey. It’s a bit obvious.”

Victor was suppressing a full-blown grin by this point, Sherlock could just fucking tell. “Oh! Yeah, I had my friend David spend the night. You know him, he’s the one I met at that party we went to, and, ehm, for a one night stand I have to say he was _very_ good to me.”

Sherlock wanted to tell him exactly how much he did not care, but it came out as something more like, “That’s nice.” Because Victor knew exactly what he was doing. That was the part that annoyed him the most. Victor knew Sherlock had heard him outside his flat, and he knew how he’d walked away in such a hurry. The guy had _timed_ it, for christ’s sake. Though he seemed content to remain oblivious to the entire incident in favour of going on and on about how fun David had been. He talked about the places they’d visited together along with a bunch of other things that Sherlock made himself busy with tuning out. He wasn’t about to give Victor the satisfaction.

He looked down moments later to find his knuckles going white as nails dug into his palm.

“... but of course, he made me really happy, so I figured why keep it at just a one nighter? That’s how we made it at least two of them. Ridiculous, huh?” Victor laughed.

“Mmm, almost as ridiculous as saying I’m using you for weed?”

“Nothing’s got you beat there, dear.” It seemed like he was waiting for a response out of Sherlock, but all he got was one of Sherlock’s most disinterested looks directed out the window. They sped past rolling hills and bushels of spiky greenery, and Sherlock didn’t think that he could’ve felt any less at home.

A few beats of awkwardly thick silence seemed to have triggered Victor into action. He began fumbling around with what sounded like him choosing a specific CD, pressing buttons on the radio system until he finally got everything to work.

Loud, cheerful, summer-y music assaulted Sherlock’s eardrums while Victor sung along just as loudly next to him. He gestured wildly, seeming to like keeping his hands off the wheel in his passionate chorus. At least Victor was done taunting him for now.

At least he had effectively cut off their conversation until they arrived in front of an old, ivy-wrapped cottage in the middle of the countryside.

What a sight the two must have been as they walked up the stone-scattered path, a foot of distance between their contrasting appearances, with the better-dressed, more proper looking one still practically hopping from stone to stone as if he’d never grown up in all his twenty years and with the other looking beyond his years, stepping a bit off to the side to make room for the redhead.

Victor knocked on the door. Sherlock stood there beside him, turning all around to inspect the greenery and old, chipping garden ornaments that surrounded an equally as worn wooden door. He did not bother to stare at Victor for too long; he looked too awed at their surroundings for Sherlock to possibly stay upset with him.

The door opened to reveal an aging man in overalls. His hair was thinning and his hands were knobby, though his handshake was firm as he greeted the two. “You must be Victor! I guess this is the friend you were talking about over the phone? I’m Clarence,” he directed at Sherlock, then paused to look up to him, holding eye contact where some others might have been intimidated by those piercing blue eyes. He just seemed to have that effect on people.

“Sherlock. It’s a pleasure.” It wasn’t entirely, not to him, but he knew when politeness was warranted however empty it might have been.

After some more idle chattering between Clarence and Victor, a breeze swept through and the older man began waving for them to follow. “Come, come inside, the hives are still in my workshop.” Sherlock did his usual scan over the guy as they were led through the threshold, and all he could smell were candles, oak, and dust the further they ventured into the house, only stopping in the kitchen for Clarence to offer the two of them a glass of water.

Sherlock dissented just as the guy placed down two mugs on the counter for them. He noticed the small reflex Clarence had, his hand jerking as if he’d been about to grab a third cup out of the cabinets. Sherlock’s eyes flickered up to his side profile as he poured water, muttering shortly to himself.

“Condolences. For your wife.” He noticed Victor glancing up at him out of the corner of his eye at the same time Clarence did, their stares meeting again. He looked confused, opening his mouth to speak, but Sherlock beat him to it. He gave a tight smile as he nodded up to a line of rose-covered decorative plates that hung above one of the cabinets. “I wouldn’t assume those are yours.”

The old man’s face smoothed back out into a pleasant, nostalgic smile. He handed Victor one of the mugs, then took one for himself when he began leading them out one of the two doors that the kitchen had. “Ah, of course. You know her name was actually Rosaline, and she loved the flowers. Damn near everything she owned had a rose on it, believe it or not.”

He chuckled, stopping them in another room shrouded in darkness that smelled more strongly of oak than the rest of the house. This must have been the workshop, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind.

There was the pulling of a chain. Then the lights flicked on from his low ceiling. The crow’s feet around Clarence’s eyes showed his mirth as he hurried about the concrete area, cleaning up this and that along his way to the two objects he had covered under a tarp, sitting proudly on a desk to one side of the room. He enjoyed what he did, truly, Sherlock could see it.

“All right, is it time for the big reveal yet, Clarence?” Victor asked as he placed his mug down on a tabletop. Clarence nodded.

They both turned their looks onto Sherlock just as Victor began strumming his hands on the tabletop for the big reveal. Sherlock couldn’t help but return their toothy, childish smiles despite himself.

Clarence swept the tarp away, and Sherlock was transfixed, for lack of a better word, on the colourful beehives that were presented before him. They weren’t large, but they weren’t exactly small either, decorated on the outside to look like Victorian-era mansions. Each section - which Sherlock noticed weren’t a part of the box, but simply added on to the outside - were different colours, the two separate hives having separate colour schemes, with the roofing being an elegant charcoal grey on both. Sherlock took a few steps closer to the hives. He bent over a bit to get a close inspection of them, tapping on the little windows, testing out the door, which he’d found wasn’t in fact an actual operational door. He was taking his good old time making sure that everything was as perfect as it looked upon first impression. “So…?”

Sherlock widened his eyes for emphasis. “You did well, Clarence.”

“Ah, it was Victor’s design, he’s the one who sent me the blueprints. All I did was bring it to life.”

“And bring it to life you did! You made them better than I ever could’ve hoped for, you know, so thank you very much,” Victor said. He was just as impressed with the craftsmanship, it seemed, Sherlock straightening up to find a smile still stuck on the other’s face.

Soon they were busy carrying the beehives back down Clarence’s stone-scattered path. That, of course, was after Sherlock had tried lifting one of them himself, only to find that it was surprisingly more heavy than he had anticipated. It’d assuredly gotten a good round of laughs at his expense.

Now though, as they sped past long stretches of grass and trees in the countryside, listening to the beehives every so often with a soft thump of wood against wood, Sherlock could only look back on the whole experience with fondness. The way Victor’s eyes had lit up at him when he’d made a deduction, and the look of surprise that crossed his face moments later when Sherlock averted his latest rant for all of their sakes. The way his smile had never faded the whole time they were there.

The modesty of the old man and his cottage was rubbing off on him, apparently, and it didn't seem to fade with any distance. Sherlock stared with intent out to the road in front of them. “Vic.” His tone was suddenly serious, barely even a murmur. He waited until he was sure that those green eyes were trained on him, not even daring to do the same. “.. I made a mistake, with telling you that. I hope I’m forgiven.”

He hoped that Victor wouldn’t ask for any clarification that Sherlock knew he didn’t need. Victor should know by now that was the closest he was ever going to get to an apology, honestly, and it seemed as if he _did_ know. He nodded his head, his next breath coming out slowly. “Did you mean it, though, about the drugs?"

"It was a lie."

"Okay." There was a brief silence between them, and then Victor added, softly, "I'm _not_ giving back those twenty pounds."

Sherlock supposed that was the closest that he was going to get to forgiveness. As long as Victor wasn’t still upset with him, he was okay with that.

 


	9. Victor in Flannel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So um yeah, i kinda got carried away with teaching you all about bees.  
> And yeah, they're really called hive tools, beekeepers are really inventive with names.  
>  **Victor**  
>  _Sherlock_

After Victor had looked at the weather forecast for the upcoming week, he’d reccomended that the building of the hives should be delayed until further notice; the weather was honestly one big dreary mess. He could see _himself_ gardening in such conditions, but Sherlock.. not so much.

The only issue was that the flowers had already been ordered, and of course, during Victor’s conference with administration, he had spoken before thinking. He’d promised to take care of the storage, which was something that he’d completely forgotten about amidst a bunch of other things. His flat, already filled with plants on a normal Tuesday, now had flower upon flower, from Lavender to sunflowers, all filling up the living room. Sure the view was aesthetically pleasing, but to work his way through it to open the window, and being unable to smoke in fear of harming the plants.. not so much. He didn’t even want to mention how many bite marks he had on his hands from Corcere trying to get out of his grasp; she’d looked a bit too hungrily at the plants for his liking.

After the beehives were finished, Victor had gotten much more things taken care of on his own time. It was easier for him since he had a driver's license, and he wasn't about to ask Sherlock to do everything together with him. The other tools for beekeeping had been stored in his bedroom after he realised there wasn't any space left to put them in the living room.

Fortunately for Victor, England was one of the most popular places to keep bees, making it a perfect spot to find all of the supplies they needed. In total, he’d spent about three-hundred pounds on supplies, but most were a once in a lifetime buy, and were of strong material. It was only a beginner’s set for now; two thick white jackets made of a sturdy plastic with a zipper near the collar, and two head protectors that could be zipped on top. They were like large summer hats with fish nets sewn beneath, completely silly looking, but when Victor tried one on he realised that they were perfect, if a bit warm. He would have to make sure the two of them were able to handle that; they didn’t want accidents.

Another thing included in this set was a thick plastic bar with a hook on the end. It was blunt, and as Victor tried it on the hives, he realised that it was made for the frames inside that would store the breeding chambers and the storage of honey. Bees, as he knew, not only produced bee wax and honey, but also a thick dark red substance called Propolis, which functioned as glue. This was tough to remove and would require the hive tool, which was actually the name for this hook, he would remember later.

Playing with the hive was fun. Victor wanted to make sure he knew exactly how the hives had been built before allowing any bees inside; he didn’t want to make unneeded mistakes while a good colony of at least ten-thousand of the little things were right near him. The plastic suits worked well, but he was unsure if they would hold up against an entire colony attacking him.

Lack of actual bees and storage problems aside, Victor kept a smile on his face. Sherlock had apologised for his actions, and although Victor had wanted more than a simple ‘it was a lie’, he supposed the way he’d treated him with David had been enough of a lesson. He had kept contact with David afterward nonetheless, for he liked the little compliments the other would give, and that was reason enough to keep in contact with him.

He’d met with Sherlock one more time afterward, and it had gone slow at first, quietly trying to find their way back into familiarity with each other. Victor had almost forgotten how fond he’d started to become of the younger man. Yet he had still been trying to figure out why Sherlock would have lied to him; it could not have been as easy as the other liking him back, could it?

It’d been at Jeremy’s, Victor treating the two of them to caramel lattes. They had only been politely communicating, Sherlock saying the bare minimum of words, and all questions were answered in such a way that shut the topic down immediately. That went on until Jeremy had joined them, really. It was clear that Victor and Sherlock had issues between them, but neither were about to ignore the Ball of Sunlight and Smiles, as Victor had always described him in his head. They had laughed, they had talked for longer than Victor and Sherlock both wanted, and when Jeremy had left for his shift again, they had not stopped. Glee came back in their voices, their smiles stayed, and Victor had said goodbye that evening with a smile still on his face. Things were good again, and Victor couldn’t be more thankful. It would be far better to just be friendly to each other, especially when teamwork and communication were very important in this stage of their project.

*********

Fortunately, the weather had mercy on Victor, and three days after the flowers had arrived, he received a message from Sherlock.

 

_I’ll help you move the supplies out of your flat. Give me an hour._

 

They had promised each other that they’d keep their schedules almost entirely free so as to allow the weather to pick the date. That was why, at this moment, Victor simply needed to dress into his gardening gear and eat something before he was ready to spend the day with his knees in fresh dirt.

 

**Don’t forget to wear clothes that are allowed to get dirty! You’re not going to escape getting dirty!**

 

Victor smirked at his text, actually pretty interested in how Sherlock would look in gardening clothes; a gay botanist stayed a gay botanist.

 

_Certainly. I’ll see you soon._

 

Then it was time for Victor to get ready.

By the time there was a knock on the door, Victor was on the couch, all supplies now moved into the living room so they didn’t make his flat any more of a mess than it already was. Corcere started scratching at her crate, curious who the visitor was, and Victor couldn’t think of anything better than allowing her to see Sherlock again. “Door’s unlocked, come in.” He stood up himself, showing off his khaki brown trousers and blue flannel shirt, which was worn out and had several old stains on it still. His gardening gear was suitable, even if it wasn’t his most fashionable outfit, and it looked good on him if he had to say so himself. Sherlock seemed to agree with this, as he immediately paused in his greeting to look at Victor.

“You don’t have to get dressed that nice, all you’re going to do is roll in the dirt,” he teased, but all the ginger could do was glance at the other’s outfit, which was about similar to the time they’d visited the woodworker: a pair of jogging trousers and an old button up. Nonetheless, he looked cute, especially since it was clear that his curls had been his biggest concern, a big mess it was.

“We are not pigs, William, I merely look hot in every outfit I wear. I think it has more to do with me,” he teased, and an amused huff was all he got. Ah well, if Sherlock got flustered by his bluntness, what did it matter?

He couldn’t even start on his next topic before Corcere started jumping around the crate as if she’d gone mad, and with the most amused expression, he watched how Sherlock moved over to her, cooing almost exactly as Victor would, greeting the girl until she calmed down. “She missed you.”

“I would be lying if I said I didn’t.” Sherlock admitted to that.

Victor would have liked to enjoy the moment for a little longer, but then he glanced at the entire pile of supplies they still had to move, then to the time.“We should start carrying the supplies downstairs.”

Sherlock’s attention went to him again, then he gave a curt nod, though obviously a bit reluctant in doing so. Later, he promised him, then they would enjoy a lazy evening to celebrate getting shit done.

Hives were carried together this time, which left Sherlock with just a bit of an insulted gaze as Victor laughed. He still remembered the desperate grunting sound the other had made trying to carry the heavy wooden creation all by himself, and Victor had to admit, it was far easier to do it with the two of them. Then supplies were moved into the grass field, and it wasn’t long before Victor started rambling on and on about the tools, while Sherlock politely kept quiet that he already knew. Until he didn’t, of course; it was even more embarrassing when he mentioned that he already knew those things, but Victor was too far into the prospect of gardening that he did not care.

For now, at least.

The sun came through around the time they started digging away the patch of grass they were allowed to use. Victor was a bit sad to admit it might’ve been better to pick a day that was cloudy and brisk instead, for he was now sweating in his practically non-breathing flannel shirt. Sherlock seemed to be in trouble as well if he were judging by the way his eyebrows were knit together in thought, and only then Victor noticed he was confused about one patch of the ground. “Just keep digging,” he encouraged, but as Sherlock looked up at him it was clear that he hadn’t wanted Victor to see his brief confusion. How cute, the other didn’t want to admit that Victor was clearly more experienced.

“My concern is mostly the proper placement of our flowers, Victor.”

“Sure.”

By the time Victor was watering the new patch of dirt and making sure everything was neat and well, he could see Sherlock sitting there, right in the corner of his eye, just staring at him doing his work in wonder. This was what he did, yes. Victor figured that even if he had been the one wanting to see Sherlock dirty and working on their own little garden on campus, Sherlock may have wanted the same. He didn’t dare to look back at the other though, there was a magic in knowing someone was staring at you, taking you in. It was like a photographer taking pictures of you during a sport’s match, there was beauty in not focusing on posing. It wasn’t fair though, the work wasn’t divided well, and Victor eventually had to give in and glance at Sherlock, who changed his look of wonder to simple boredom. “Planning to let me do everything then, are you?”

“You’re doing pretty much everything, why would you need my help?”

Ah, Sherlock just didn’t know what to do, what a wondrous excuse. “Because it’s time to arrange the flowers, and I’m sure someone who pays as much attention to details as you will be amazing at arranging them prettily,” he said.

The hives had been a hell to set up, Victor wasn’t going to lie. They were heavy, weirdly divided in weight and height, and their legs were not planning to go into the ground in equal depth. It cost them a pair of dirty hands to get them in well, but it certainly was something to be proud of afterward. The pastel-like colours of the walls stood out well, and matched the colours of the cornflowers and lavender surrounding it. Victor compared their colours to the houses at the Portobello road Market, and Sherlock agreed.

Victor, still kneeling in the dirt, took in the various flowers they had planted in the garden. “Sunflower, huh?” he muttered as he lingered on the strong yellow of the flowers, and all he got was a soft hum from the other. He himself had picked more purple and pink flowers, low to the ground to make sure the hives weren’t outshadowed, but Sherlock had just bluntly forced Victor to order the most ridiculous flower for London. However he wasn’t going to complain, they looked beautiful right behind the hives. Three beautiful sunflowers, all pointed at the sun, and yes, now Victor saw the appeal of doing this on a sunny day.

Covered in dirt, Sherlock looked like someone else, a stranger. He hadn’t stopped smiling since they finished up, and had a dark streak of dirt on his cheek that Victor had playfully helped him get rid of. They both deserved a good shower, he thought, but for now he was happy to lie in the grass and soak up the sun after hours of work. Sherlock was sitting next to him, still staring at the hive, and Victor wondered what he was thinking about.. if he may have been thinking about him.

“How do you think the bees will respond to it?” he asked.

Victor gave him the softest smile as he turned onto his side towards Sherlock. “It’s the most welcoming home they could have, I don’t think they’ll have a tough time getting used to it. Clarence built a lovely grid of rope inside to make it easier for them to create rows, they will build it soon, and they definitely won’t have issues finding enough flowers to create honey. Maybe they’ll fail to make honey, I don’t know, but I mostly care about their well-being.”

Sherlock glanced at the other briefly, a soft smile on his face, and Victor felt a fondness drop over him like a warm blanket. He wanted to always be the cause of his smile from now on. “Agreed, honey isn’t my end goal anyway.”

_Good._

A silence fell between them again, and Victor gave himself a moment to imagine bees buzzing around the flowers collecting pollen, and before he knew it, his eyes were getting heavy-lidded. He was shaken awake by Sherlock’s hand on his shoulder, almost shy in the way he’d touched him. “Can I use your shower?”

Oh yes, it was about time they should leave. “Sure.” His empty stomach agreed to that, and Victor sat up with a large yawn. Sherlock seemed amused by this.

“Wow Vic, I didn’t expect you to get so exhausted from gardening, shouldn’t you be used to it by now?”

Victor let out a bark of a laugh, standing up and moving to the flat with his gardening tools in hand, expecting Sherlock to follow him. “You’d be surprised how tiring it is if you do work for two.”

Sherlock didn’t even respond, he obviously knew Victor was right.

*********

The flat was something else now that all plants had been relocated. It was covered in dirt and petals, and it suddenly felt so empty. “Bathroom is next to my bedroom," he muttered to Sherlock as he moved himself into the small kitchen. He’d follow next, but for now he was happy to have his friend here still. It felt pleasant to have Sherlock treat this as a second home, he couldn’t deny that. He made some tea for the two of them, and then sat down, waiting for the other to return as he listened to the soft patter of shower water. When he didn’t hear it anymore, there was a pause in the shuffling and then, with a soft hesitant sound, Sherlock called for him. “Vic.”

Ah, clothes.

“Yeah?”

“I need to borrow some clothes.”

Victor couldn’t help but laugh for a bit, standing up from his spot to move into his bedroom, grabbing an old pair of jeans and a nice shirt made of good quality cotton. He opened the bathroom door and offered it out. After Sherlock snatched it out of his hand, no words followed.

“ _You’re welcome._ ”

He came out of the bathroom minutes later, and Victot decided that Sherlock looked good in his clothes. Sherlock would always look good in his clothes, he figured. Where the ginger looked muscular in them, Sherlock looked small, more fragile. It was cute, not that he’d ever admit it. His friend would kill him before he had the chance to explain himself.

“Can I greet her?” was the first thing the other asked, and Victor spared a glance at the crate, smiling. No one could resist her charm, it seemed.

“You may take her out, I think she missed you.” Sherlock didn’t let him say it twice, and within seconds he laid on the floor with the bunny on his chest, digging and snuffling as if she were insulted, as if she were blaming Sherlock for not paying attention to her earlier.

“Sorry love, that was me,” Victor directed to the bunny, but laughed when Sherlock looked up as well with confusion. “I was the one that kept you in the crate too long, but you were a danger to the lavender!”

A brief moment of hesitation, then Sherlock directed his attention to the bunny again.

_I don’t use that nickname for you yet, do you want me to?_

He lay down next to Sherlock, offering him a mug, and there they lay, a déjà vu. “You up for a joint?” he offered eventually. He could not ignore the opportunities and the freedom of his speech he felt while he was high, but Sherlock seemed even more hesitant in taking the offer. How could he not? He didn’t want to be seen as too eager, he did not want to mess it up again.

“Sure, why not?”

Victor, with lots of struggling to get up from his comfortable place on the carpet, stood up to retrieve his little wooden box. For a reason he could not understand now, he’d begun hiding his weed in a different spot; maybe because of David, maybe because he wasn’t sure if Sherlock would be so kind as to not tell the administration about his illegal interests.

Another change he’d become aware of when he sat down and opened up the box was that it only contained weed. The needle and the razorblades that had been in it before were gone now, and he could see Sherlock taking in the information with curiosity. He had wished to see another glimpse of something he didn’t quite understand yet. Curiosity was dangerous, Victor knew, and that was why his needles were safely hidden somewhere else, far away from Sherlock’s sneaky hands.

“Do you think you can roll them now?” Victor teased after returning from putting Corcere in his room. The brunet was already looking at the bags of cannabis, and Victor handed him a thin paper scrap to roll it into.

“I think I can manage this time.”

He did, actually. Sherlock had been right. The joint wasn’t perfect, sure, but it was well enough for nothing to fall out while using it, and Victor was sure nothing would end up in his mouth either. “You’re getting better at this, I don’t know if that’s good or bad.” Sherlock had sensed the nervousness in that.

“Good, I would assume. Weed isn’t bad.”

“No, _weed_ isn’t.”

The other seemed to think this over for a moment, and then they settled down on the couch (Victor was too lazy to grab the thick blanket they’d used the last few times). Sherlock muttered something much later, after they were both lit, taking hits from it and allowing the thick, aromatic smoke to fill their lungs.

“You’re afraid I want to do more than just weed.”

This caused Victor to go quiet for a bit, after some endless rambling about a topic he now couldn’t remember, and considered this. “Yes.”

An answer never came to that particular statement, but Victor considered it many times to continue the topic nonetheless, for it was an important thing that Sherlock _needed_ to know. It was dangerous to experiment with other drugs, especially when you were so new. As long as dealers profited off of you, they didn’t care for much else. Sherlock didn’t seem the type to know his limits, or the limits of his body in general. He was unbelievably smart and fast-thinking, but he truly had his blind spots, Victor had realised after the entire fight. Sherlock had merely not seen the consequences in his actions, how could he do the same with this topic?

They sat there, in the sounds of Victor humming the same happy songs they had listened to while driving through the countryside, and both seemed fine with this, close together, the feel of the other’s glowing skin almost intimate. Victor tried to take it in, to feel, to smell, but all he could smell was the smoke. Corcere was still in the other room, luckily, for Victor didn’t need her to be here now. It took him ages to find the right way to formulate his question. “William?”

“Hm..?” The other looked up rather lazily, and Victor felt almost bad for his next words.

“Promise me that you’ll keep all drugs-related things to me.”

Sherlock seemed very surprised by this sudden request, looking to him with raised eyebrows. Well, Victor couldn’t continue acting as if this other young adult was responsible.

“Promise.”

Victor paused. That was easier than he had expected, it was almost suspicious. “ _Any_ drugs, I’m saying. That means no cocaine, heroine, morphine, so on. Nothing. You keep it here, with the weed. I need you to promise this.”

Sherlock glanced at him again, this time clearly annoyed as he rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to make anything clear for me, and I promise, I will only do drugs with you.”

A pause.

“Thank you.”

It was dark outside by the time Sherlock complained about his noisy stomach, and with an annoyed grunt, Victor stood up from his spot against the other's side to get his phone to order some chinese again. It had quickly become Sherlock’s favourite dish here, and he couldn’t blame him. Everyone had their drunk or high feel-good food, right? Victor noticed that his friend had become a bit less boney, his skin getting a more natural blush, and he wondered how much Sherlock usually ate. It couldn’t be enough, it truly couldn’t. He wasn’t going to teach him two lessons in one evening though, and just ordered extra fried bananas for him to snack on. The weed surely helped the other to gain weight.

Corcere was the next distraction from their conversation, as they did not talk often, Sherlock just calmly petting behind her ears as she snuffed, now pleased with the way things went.

“You know..” Victor was smiling, his hand next to Corcere on Sherlock’s stomach, enjoying the sensation of seeing it slowly rise and fall. “You would never have to train bees to attack someone.”

Sherlock looked blank for a moment, but then realisation dawned on his face. “Oh shut up!” he exclaimed, throwing an arm over his face.

“Bees leave a pheromone when they sting that alerts the others where the enemy is, you’d only need that to-”

“Yeah yeah point taken! But that’s not going to help me get back at Sebastian, now is it?”

Sebastian again, Victor didn’t understand the grudge he held against that guy. “What did he do to you again?” Victor couldn’t remember hearing about it.

Sherlock’s mood immediately changed into something annoyed. Victor almost regretted it. “He told administration I had dangerous substances in my room, apparently that it violated policy for the wellbeing of other people on my floor. Vic, those were experiments I had been working on for _years_.”

Victor understood now, slightly, but still, one question remained to be asked. “Were they?”

“What?”

“The chemicals, were they-”

“It doesn’t matter! He told them! Years of work!”

Victor couldn’t resist, he laughed, ruffling through Sherlock’s now dry curls with his hand, enjoying how bothered the other looked by all of this. “I still need to get back at him. You know I can’t just leave it like this.” Ah, lovely, that wasn’t going to solve anything, but alas. “Would you like to help me devise a plan?”

Victor looked confused. A plan? He paused for a moment, then looked at his wooden box. He wanted to please his friend. “Plant some drugs in his flat, alert the administration,” he muttered, too careless to really see the consequences. The other seemed happy with this answer, and then glanced back at the hand in expectation. So Victor did what he wanted, continuing with stroking with his fingers through those curls, playing with them. “Talk to me about it tomorrow and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Hmmm... It’s getting late.”

Victor looked at the time and realised that yes, it was fairly late. He looked down at the other with just a hint of sadness. Sherlock seemed to have sensed that, as Victor quickly answered, “It is.”

“Would you like me to stay?”

A brief pause but then, with the smallest voice, Victor managed to admit it. _“Please?”_ A scoff from the other, but then he shifted. “Come on then, take Corcere with you.”

*********

Sherlock had borrowed another shirt from him and was lying in bed, right there next to him, his eyes lazy and his smile almost too good to be real, and Victor couldn’t imagine a better way to end the day until Sherlock settled against him, eyes closed.

The ginger was nervous about this; he still didn’t know where they stood with each other, but he didn’t dare to breach the subject now, even though the thought was so tempting. He opened his eyes to look at it again, how those thick curls were only centimeters away from him. He couldn’t believe it, he might have to keep an eye on Sherlock to make sure this was real. He swallowed thickly. “Jeremy likes you, you know,” he whispered, needing something to segue into it. He needed more information about Sherlock, more information about his chances.

“Yeah, I know,” the other had whispered back, and Victor closed his eyes when he saw the other’s open, almost able to feel him scanning his face.

“So...”

“Hm?”

The sound was _so close_ to his face, it was as if he were right there, hovering over him, ready to lean in and...

“Do you?” he asked nervously, his eyes opening and seeing him right there, so so close to him, his breath catching in his throat. Sherlock seemed to notice this, and with the briefest glance, Victor looked at those cupid-bow lips, dry.

“Do you want me to?” Sherlock asked then, and Victor brought his eyes up.

“What?” Damn weed, working well on his memory, he had already been far too distracted! He couldn’t be talking about their lips being so close, right?

“Would you like it if I liked Jeremy back?”

Victor wanted to shout it, almost instantly.  _No, I would not, but you’re allowed to._

“Of course, he’s my friend.”

“That’s not a good reason.”

“Maybe not for you.”

A pause, and then he could feel the other shift down, settling against his shoulder. “Good night, Vic.”

“Good night, William.”


	10. Mission ImpossiBEE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With new projects ahead and some hectic days past us, we're glad to bring you this chapter!  
> (Don't tell Soos but i'm so so so so in love with this one.)  
>  **Victor**  
>  _Sherlock_

Sherlock yawned obnoxiously wide as he padded into the kitchen, following the smell of breakfast to where Victor stood in his own pyjamas making waffles. Of course, Sherlock was still in Victor’s own pyjamas as well, the t-shirt hanging loose off of his slender frame - something that he _did not_ wish to draw attention to. Victor turned his head to catch his eye, smiling lazily at him. “Good morning, sleepy head.”

He wasn’t quite in the mood for a verbal response, simply poking around over Victor’s shoulders, watching the other prepare the ingredients for a moment before he lost interest and went off to sit down at the tiny kitchen table. Running a hand through his curls, Sherlock rested back in the chair. “Did you sleep well?” the other asked, and Sherlock hummed a negative. He’d gotten way more sleep than usual last night, yet it was messing with his functionality; he was still tired. He just focused on listening to Victor hum along to some song he barely recognised as he cooked.

He had no idea how anybody could’ve been a morning person.

Soon enough a plate was placed down in front of him, a bottle of syrup and some confectionary sugar following moments later. He wondered how many others had gotten this treatment after spending the night in Victor’s bed, though he supposed that his version of ‘spending the night’ had been a tiny bit different. If the thought made him blush, he didn’t want  to know about it. He mumbled something in thanks as Victor took the seat across from him.

“Well somebody is cranky this morning,” he teased.

“No I’m not. We can’t all be like you when we first wake up.” Sherlock shook his head as Victor laughed in response. A few bites into his waffle later, he realised just how absolutely _starving_ he was, already half finished by the time Victor had even made a dent in his. Which was a bit strange, considering the Chinese takeout he and Victor had eaten together only the night before.

Victor had noticed as well, apparently, raising an eyebrow to him from around the little plant in the center of the table. “Is it good, then?”

“Yes, very good, I must be a special case.” He watched for Victor’s reaction, casually going about reaching for more syrup. The other just flashed him a soft smile.

“Special case? I don’t know where you get these ideas, if you _were_ , you wouldn’t be getting the default breakfast.” Sherlock hummed. So there was a default for all of his conquests, good to know. Victor surprised him with the next thing, though, holding his stare with that same soft, teasing smile. “What can I get you next time, then?”

For some reason, the thought of a next time and the thought of it being _different_ made the back of his neck tingle with a pleasant blush. He could get used to mornings like these; quiet, warm, Victor. He leaned forward with his elbows on the table, closer towards him. He wanted all of it to himself, his heart going heavy with it, and he had to stomp _that one_ out before it went anywhere else. He said the first thing that came to mind, “Dosa pancakes, they’re Indian.”

Victor scoffed. “The ingredients have to be soaked overnight, don’t they? You may be special, but you’re not special enough for all that prep time.”

“What, I thought you liked cooking.”

“I like baking more, actually, I love it. It’s my favourite thing to do, and get this, sometimes I’ll just get in these moods where I panic bake. Meaning, I’ll get so stressed out that I’ll make like ten batches of cookies in an hour or two…” From there Victor went on to tell him a few different instances of it happening, the overabundance of brownies and cookies that he had to give out for free lest they practically bury him inside his own kitchen, Sherlock chuckling at the ridiculousness of it the whole way through.

After that, their conversation lolled in and out, the tranquility returning as the sun slowly crawled further and further up in the sky.

They talked about the day prior between bites of waffles, and a thought occurred to him all of a sudden. He pushed the plate away and splayed his hands out in front of him, his demeanour business-like. After all, Victor _had_ asked him to bring it up in the morning when they were both sober. “So. About Sebastian.”

The hesitance was obvious on his face at the mere mention of it. He had to have remembered the cursory plotting they’d done the night before. It took Victor a moment to shake his head clear. “Yeah, about him, we’re planting drugs in his dorm. What’s your plan so far? Do you have a date all set up that he’s gonna be out of the room?”

“Yes, I did my research. One of his friends is hosting a party two weeks from now, a party that Sebastian is definitely going to. Perfect opportunity. I can get the weed whenever I want. The only problem is the roommate.”

Victor seemed a bit more concerned with that other bit. “Oh, no, I’ll get you the weed sometime next week, you don’t have to worry about that.”

Sherlock gave him a look. He knew what Victor was doing, he’d caught on long ago to the reluctance Victor had been showing with him being around drugs, and he’d noticed the lack of razor blades in that box, the promise he’d forced Sherlock to make, to keep his drug use where it was after they’d finished the joint. He couldn’t be more obvious about it if he tried. He knew that Victor didn’t want him to get into contact with drug dealers. He ignored it for now, for the sake of civil conversation, dropping the look into something a bit more friendly. “... Thank you. Now, as I was saying, the only problem is his roommate Jonathan.”

After asking for clarification on his last name, Victor gave him an absolutely devious smirk. “Oh. You know.. he’s gay.” Sherlock flashed him a pleased little smile as well, though he was busy pondering just how well Sebastian might have been coping with a gay roommate. He didn’t necessarily seem like the accepting type, which made it all the more amusing. “I guess that’ll be the plan, I’ll seduce Jonathan and make sure both of them are at that party. Then you can break in.”

Sherlock thought that sounded brilliant. “Where should I plant it?”

Tilting his head side to side for a moment, Victor answered, “In the toilet tank.”

He nodded. He played around with the extra syrup on his plate while he waited for Victor to finish his breakfast. There was something infinitely satisfying about plotting revenge, and he couldn’t even imagine what it’d be like to follow through with it.

*********

Sherlock kept himself far out of the loop in regards to Victor’s seduction attempts with Jonathan. He didn’t want to know, he didn’t need to know, and he didn’t care to know. It just wasn't vital information on his front. Victor admittedly had far more of a task with preparation; all Sherlock really had to do was sit and wait for all of the pieces to fall into place. Of course, he had to make sure that he was flying under Sebastian's radar for the next two weeks, but that was easy enough. A few minor games of insult-tennis during their only class together, some avoiding each other like the plague whenever they happened to be walking in each other’s direction, and everything was the same.

So when he was invited over Victor’s house again that week and came face to face with a rather impressive hickey right below Victor’s jawline, he did all he could to avoid it. Victor just loved neck kisses, it seemed.

It was hard to avoid when the main topic of their conversation was pertaining to it, though, the two of them sat on the couch with Corcere hopping back and forth between them when one or the other stopped petting her. Victor was talking and talking and talking about Jonathan, Sherlock blinking at him rapidly in response. “... But, anyway, you don’t need to know all that. Just know that I caught him and I’ll officially be at the party with him next weekend.”

How joyous. He could only imagine the sort of fun Victor would indulge himself with in the meanwhile.

*********

A few days later when Victor came knocking on his door unannounced, the first thing Sherlock did before allowing him inside was scan him over for any new additions on his skin. He was disproportionally pleased to find that there weren’t any. At least, none that were visible.

He smiled sheepishly at Sherlock. “Hey. Sorry for just popping up, but, I have something for you.”

“You brought the weed, then. Good.”

“Yeah…” As Victor took a look around his dorm room, the cluttered mess it was, Sherlock rushed ahead of him to do a cursory clean-up, piling all of his notes together next to his books and throwing random stuff away into his closet for now. Most of his experiments had been confiscated, leaving a good portion of his dorm feeling way too empty for his liking. To him, it looked like a battleground. To others, he was sure it looked just a bit more presentable. He never cared much for what others thought. Yet this was the first time Victor had ever stepped foot inside Sherlock’s place, wasn’t it?

The other pulled a plastic bag out of his coat pocket and set it down on the nearest available surface, on his desk alongside expensive looking equipment and more textbooks that he really had no business owning. There was a clear reluctance in doing so, one that Sherlock was about to shut down, but Victor beat him to it. “I’m just a bit worried, Sherlock, you know this will get him expelled, right?”

Sherlock sat down at his desk. He turned a sour look onto the redhead, trying not to sound as bristled as he felt. “Obviously, Vic. Do you understand the situation?” He wasn’t looking for an answer to that, he knew that Victor didn’t because he hadn’t explained it in enough detail before, while they were both high and curled up in each other on Victor’s bed. “He’s already gotten me in trouble twice with administration, one more strike against me and _I’ll_ be expelled.”

He hated the look of internal conflict that was so readable on the other’s face. “We can _both_ get expelled for this, if anybody finds out.”

The only form of comfort Sherlock could really provide him with was an intense stare, one that showed only genuine confidence. “I do hope you haven’t forgotten who you’re talking to.” He enunciated his next words slow and careful, “It’s not going to happen. It would be all my fault anyway, not yours.”

Victor still seemed a bit at war with himself, yet he dropped it all the same. He’d come around sooner or later, Sherlock didn’t doubt it for a moment.

*********

As predicted, Victor grew just as excited about it as Sherlock with every passing day, closer and closer to the date of the party. Sherlock was all nerves - the good kind, though, the ones that kept him awake at night like a child waiting for a field trip in the morning - and for him the weekend could not come any sooner. He wanted Sebastian gone; it was really just a matter of self-preservation at its core. Get rid of Sebastian before Sebastian got rid of him. It wasn’t as if his ridiculously affluential parents _wouldn’t_ be able to get him accepted into a different school, one that was even better than the University of London. He was opening up many new doors for the guy, ones he may not have even considered, Sherlock had told Victor with a self-satisfied smirk.

The two had spent a very late night with each other again, back at Jeremy’s to go over the plan one last time. They’d ordered caramel lattes and coffee cakes to snack on while they talked, legs outstretched and nearly touching each other’s under the table, a gentle camaraderie between them like how it had always been. Victor had decided that he was one-hundred percent in, no questions asked, after they’d talked about it some more. Sherlock was pleased.

When the next morning finally came around, Sherlock wasn’t as giddy about it as he’d thought he’d have been. Anticipation was always better than the actual thing, it seemed.

Nonetheless he went about his day as usual, ignoring Victor because he was currently ignoring him in favour of spending the day with Jonathan. He’d apparently planned something fun and romantic for them, but when Victor had told him about it the night before with a caramel latte in his hands, he’d just erased it as soon as he’d heard it.

So Sherlock spent the latter half of his day hanging around Jeremy’s café, seeing as it was closer to Sebastian’s dorm room, working on some school papers to preoccupy himself, his phone unlocked and the screen facing upwards waiting for a message from Victor. Jeremy hadn’t actually shown up until a few hours into the late afternoon after he’d gotten out of class himself, but he came around to Sherlock’s table every so often to chat and check up on him. The two of them spent his break together, the whole conversation generally mild yet challenging on Sherlock’s end. It was entertaining for him, to say the least, being able to observe all of the different little indications that the other was interested in him. He’d have to find a way to dissuade him on that point sooner or later.

Eventually, around nine o’clock, Sherlock found himself walking down the pathway in the direction of Sebastian’s dorm, smoking a cigarette out of boredom. He needed to _do_ something, being pent up in the café for a minute longer would’ve driven him mad. There were a few students flooding up and down the path that he’d rather stay away from, keeping to the edge and exhaling in the opposite direction where the smoke wouldn’t be carried into anybody’s face. He had the plastic bag of weed in one jacket pocket and a pair of gloves in another; he always came prepared.

Then his phone vibrated with a message in the back of his jeans.

 

 **Sebastian just left for the party, and Jonathan will be out in five minutes** **  
**

 

_Do stop snogging him._

 

Sherlock hadn’t recieved another message for an exact eight minutes, in which he’d spent sitting on one of the many benches that lined the pathway with his eyes down on his phone. Sebastian and Jonathan would be headed in the opposite direction, he knew that for a fact. The next message that popped up, though, made him pause. **  
**

 

**That was the most fun i had all day, actually!  
**

 

Sherlock tilted his head. That was interesting. **  
**

 

 **We left the building, room #201**   
**GO**

 **  
** The bench seat was no longer filled, leaving behind only a small gust of wind in his place as he strode down the way. There was no room for nervousness or giddiness, all of that being pushed aside for his single-minded determination, now set at the locked door before him reading 201. **  
**

He had to act fast.

At any moment somebody could come out in the hallway and catch him.

He held two thin metal instruments in his gloved hands, crouching down just a bit to get a good angle on what he was doing. Surprise of surprises, Mycroft had been the one to gift him with a lock-pick kit when they were younger. He’d never properly thanked him for it, as far as he could remember; back then his form of thanks had been picking every single lock in his brother’s bedroom while he’d been off at uni. He’d have to send a card.

It took him just under a minute to unlock the door. A new personal best, that was. Sherlock smirked to himself as he checked the hallway behind him. Empty.

He’d never felt more at home than in that moment - alone in a dorm room that wasn’t his own, carrying with him a whole thirty grams worth of marijuana after just picking the lock, his mission one of subterfuge.

Looking around the room with the light now turned on, he stuck his nose up at how spotless everything was; Sebastian was definitely not his type of person.

He pulled his phone out as he made his way back towards the bathroom.

_I’m in._

It was very fortunate that Sebastian and Jonathan didn’t have to use communal bathrooms, or even a shared one, otherwise it would’ve been a bit tricky to trace the weed back to Sebastian, he thought as he looked around the area. He wasted no time in lifting the top off of the cistern, taping the bag to the underside of the lid. That was where people usually hid it, wasn’t it? It would be one of the first places they’d look. That would do.

He took the time to inspect the rest of the other’s living area after his mission was, for the most part, completed. It was tempting to nick the container of hair gel off of his sink, it really, really was, but he was smarter than that. He’d have to come back just before Sebastian was sent off elsewhere for that final fuck you.

*********

After dropping everything off at his dorm, Sherlock felt very much like celebrating their accomplishment. He may not have been invited to the party, but Sherlock often found that at parties like these - with too many people to count coming in and out as they pleased - it hardly mattered who was invited.

Amidst a bunch of dancing bodies holding plastic solo cups, the lights dimmed out in favour of blacklights turned on along the walls with neon colours glowing all around them, Victor was not a hard person to find. There was a certain energy to him that just drew people's eyes in, Sherlock definitely not being exempt. He was dancing close to Jonathan, who was playing with the top buttons of Victor's shirt while Victor just laughed and turned his head away.

Making his way through a crowd of dull purple skin and bright shirts to Victor’s spot had been easy enough, catching the other's eye right away. A brief nod of the head from Sherlock, then their teeth flashed this glowing white at each other. With that, Victor seemed to entirely forget about his date. "Oh there you are, Will! I've been looking for you all night!" he yelled over the music, waving him over at the same time he disentangled himself from Jonathan. Sherlock visibly saw his shoulders relax as he leaned in close to his ear, sounding a bit out of breath. "How did it go?"

"Easy, like I told you it would," he said back, enjoying the scent of Victor's hair while he was still close, the other’s warm body practically melding to the side of his own. He felt the hum in response more than he heard it, the two of them just standing there barely moving along to the music as everybody around them had been. Sherlock leaned in close to his ear again. “Vic, you were a huge help, how can I repay you for this?”

After a moment of contemplation, the other said rather flippantly, “Oh, I don’t care, I don’t really need anything. Just get something for Corcere, yeah?” Sherlock nodded his head, and he just knew that Victor was getting distracted again, turning his head to where he’d come from. "Ehm. Give me a moment to talk to him.” Then soon enough the warmth was gone and Victor was dragging himself back over to where Jonathan was still standing a bit dumbfounded. Sherlock took that as his cue to go find something else to do, turning around towards a table filled with bowls upon glowing bowls of snacks and cups all lined up behind them. Victor would be having fun with this week’s date.

So when Victor came up behind him and wrapped an arm around his shoulder, he was confused. "Are you forgetting something?”

“You mean Jonathan? Now that you’re here, why would I go off with him?”

Sherlock gave him a side-eye, his voice impassive. “Why would you indeed, you only spent the whole week with him.” It was odd, how Sherlock had the power to incite such an awkward silence in a crowded room while the party continued on around them. “Mm. How was today, by the way? Your _date_.”

“Well he is very, very sweet, we talked about a few things and we basically just did what I told you about last night.”  Apparently Sherlock still had his judging face on, because the other continued, “He’s nothing. He just likes the attention, really, I don’t think he’d mind if we broke up-” And Victor never got to finish that thought. His attention had momentarily went to a friend of his that just so happened to come by at the right moment, the both of them getting red solo cups pressed into their hands. Sherlock turned his head from the two chatting away in favour of popping a few crisps into his mouth instead, not entirely willing to stray too far from the arm Victor still had wrapped around his shoulders. He made a face down at the beer, then lifted it up to Victor after that random guy’s storm blew past, insistent that he go on. Victor just laughed the whole thing off, switched the topic like he was oh so unaware of it. “Hey, I know you don’t drink, so obviously you don’t have to if you don’t want to...” he rambled on, lifting his own cup for emphasis as he pushed them both into the middle of the crowd. Sherlock thought that he should’ve taken some weed out of that bag for himself, then it would’ve been a proper celebration.

He scoffed. “Oh, you can drink mine.”

“Perfect.”

The blacklights were a nice touch, in his opinion. The glowing neon colours on posters and shirts and, in a few cases, body paint, weren’t as hard on the eyes as he would’ve thought.. but they weren’t as nice of a touch as watching Victor get the people around him just as into the music as he was, even with one hand busy holding his alcohol. Victor was honestly something else.

He danced with him a good portion of the time they were there, watching the other finish off cup after cup of beer between song changes. Sherlock was having a good time, Victor was probably having the time of his life, and what better way was there to throw a going-away party for a person he was very glad that he hadn’t so much as seen all night? Then again, the only person Sherlock cared enough to notice was currently allowing the both of them to get absorbed into a group of blonde girls - all psychology majors - so that they could dance with them as if he and Sherlock were one of their own. Soon enough they were getting into as much of an intelligent conversation as the music allowed, Sherlock actually shutting up for a minute to listen to what they had to say. He was surprised to find that they all flocked more to him than to Victor, but the other didn’t seem to mind, just laughing at how readily Sherlock had made friends with such an unlikely group.

And when somebody brought in neon coloured shot glasses.. the whole house went crazy.

“Oh my god Sherlock! Come on, you _have_ to take shots with us,” one of the girls, Kristy, said as she and a few others led him by the elbow over to a table.

Victor started going a bit overboard with those. He was praising how the colours looked when he stacked all of his used shot glasses together by the time Sherlock found a way to excuse himself from his new friends, a few additional phone numbers in tow. He patted Victor on the back to urge him into getting up. “Victor Trevor, we are leaving.”

It got a few ‘awww’s’ out of the people surrounding them, Victor included, but honestly, the faster he got them out of there, the better.

*********

Sherlock had never really noticed how heavy Victor was until he had to just about carry him the whole way across campus to his flat. He couldn’t go more than a few steps without stumbling over himself and, as such, had to use Sherlock as a crutch.

It was a struggle getting the both of them inside.

He propped Victor upright when they got to his door. “All right, unless you want me to break into your flat, I need the key.”

“Okay. Okay, gimme a minute, William, just a minute.” Victor giggled and did something weird with his hand, apparently attempting to pull them out of his front pocket. Sherlock grew annoyed with that very quickly. He swatted the other’s hand away to just pull the keys out himself, Victor nearly falling over in another fit of laughter after he’d swished his hips at Sherlock.

He couldn’t take it.

There was a whole lot of singing and water being forced into his system and stupid jokes being made as they got changed into pyjamas, but Victor did eventually end up getting tucked into bed. Given that it was already one-thirty in the morning, Sherlock couldn’t see much sense in doing anything else but following him under the comforter, lying there similarly to how they’d been just the night before. Except, Victor had grown into some sort of drunken starfish and decided to throw an arm over him this time.

It was very serene after all of that nonsense, to finally be resting under the covers, warm and coccooned by Victor’s body cuddling up to him. His face was buried in Sherlock’s shoulder when he attempted to speak, his words coming out muffled. “You smell so niiice, Will, have I ever told you that?”

“I’m sure you have.”

“Mmhm, I think so. I know something, though, I never told you I like how you look in my clothes. They like, _swallow_ you, it’s so fucking cute.”

“Okay, Vic.” Sherlock glared up at the ceiling because he was stuck in Victor’s clothes for the night, but with a shot of vodka in his system, he couldn’t get too upset about it, especially with Victor being cuddled up so close to him, hugging him lazily around his torso. He was positive that he was going to bitch him out for it later, though.

“D’you wanna know what I was thinking about?”

Sherlock’s patient silence encouraged him to continue. “Uh. Us, as a.. couple. Yeah! It really makes me happy, you know, to think about being with you." His voice was slow and languid, drunk and slurred, like he had all the time in the world to finish speaking his mind. Which wasn't too far off, for Sherlock would give him all the time in the world, even for this, even with every whispered word making the breath catch in his throat.  "... Cause then I’d be able tooooo, like, hold your hand and, kiss you again like at that party, cause that’s something I was looking forward to, and. I’d be soooo good to you Will! I’d bake you heart cookies and… like, imagine how good the right flowers would look in your hair...”

Victor paused for a while after that, so long that Sherlock thought that he’d actually fallen asleep on him in the middle of his sentence. He was just about to get another bottle of water for Victor when he took a sharp inhale of breath. “I dunno, just imagine nights like this.. all cloooose all the time, and, gosh I’m quite a good kisser when I’m drunk? I can prove it to you later, but now? I love the thought of being able to wake up next to you like this, with me, every single morning. It’s so nice. I want to stay like this forever." His smile faded and his head shot up just then, eyes pleading. "Ehm. Please stay?”

Sherlock just petted his hair to calm him down. “Of course. Go to sleep Vic, you’re going to regret it in the morning.”

“Mmmmmno I won’t. I mean every word.”

He was too shocked to do much else than continue stroking through red curls, listening to Victor’s breaths even out as he fell asleep. In all honesty, there wasn’t much else to entertain himself with at that point other than pondering Victor’s request from earlier, staring at the plants towering over them in the moonlight.

He dozed off thinking about what exactly he was going to get for Corcere in the morning, smiling at the list of ideas running through his head. Enough said, he was not going to disappoint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS: Susan didn't get the pun in the title and changed it to mission impossible at the beginning, it is my pride to drag her for this.


	11. Cubeed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Here with another fresh chapter!  
> [Kudos to Sas for making such an awesome edit!](http://patrvchilles.tumblr.com/post/122005012066/victorious-by-not-victor-and)  
>  **Victor**  
>  _Sherlock_  
>  Jeremy

And oh god how he regretted the _drinking_ the next day. Surely he did. It was Vic's first thought when he woke up with light shining on his face from one of those blasted windows. He groaned. His headache was through the roof by now, his head was bursting, and with another groan, he buried his face deeply in the pill-

_Oh._

That wasn't a pillow, that was a very warm, very pleasant-smelling shoulder. He tried to remember the previous night, fearing that it was still Jonathan, but then, some new memories were conjured up of Sherlock with him, oh so admirable with that beautiful smile, and now acting as a pleasant heater under the blankets.

"Good Morning."

The voice rumbled through him, soft and warm and familiar. Sherlock had stayed sober, hadn't he? Of all people, Victor had expected Sherlock to be smart enough to flee before he woke up, kindly with a glass of water and an aspirin left on his bedside table. No one would want to experience Victor with a hangover, for it was usually a disaster of nagging and whining, but Vic thought that he deserved it after baking waffles for the other last time he’d slept over. "’S not a good one."

A pause, and then, Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "Morning." Both huffed out in amusement at that little joke, but Victor was quick to bring their attention back to the headache that was ripping his head open with another groan against Sherlock’s shoulder, and to his surprise, the other actually responded. "I was about to get you a glass of water and an aspirin, but-"

"Why didn't you?"

There was a shift, and only then did Victor realise the extent to which he’d been wrapped around Sherlock, their legs entwined and Victor’s grip like steel around his hips. They both probably would’ve ended up on the floor if Sherlock had even tried getting up. Victor was glad that the other seemed too fond of him to do such a thing, though he wouldn’t have expected anything else if Sherlock had also been hungover. Or if they hadn't known each other for so long.

"I baked you waffles last time."

"So?"

He could hear the smirk in the other's voice, and in response, he squeezed himself further against Sherlock's slender body, rubbing his itchy nose into the fabric of his shirt. "Take care of meeeee..."

A huff of breath, a moment of contemplation, then, a hand was working on pushing Victor away, the mattress dimpling beneath his weight. "Be right back."

He could hear Sherlock's footsteps on the linoleum flooring of his apartment, and soon heard the rumbling of a water boiler. Vic didn't know what to expect, he actually found it surprising that he was doing all of this for him; Sherlock didn't seem like the most caring person.

_Well that wasn't true._

Conjuring up memories of last night told an entirely different story. Even though he couldn't remember everything explicitly, Victor did remember giggling and laughing loudly at Sherlock trying to get him into his pajamas and beneath the duvet. Oh he had truly been ridiculous again, and Vic was sure that Sherlock was the type to remind him of it till his death.

His thoughts were interrupted by a warm weight being set down upon his stomach. With much effort, Vic raised his head, shaking the ginger curls away from his eyes and cooing as soon as he saw the little ball of fluff. "Well, you surely found my medicine," Vic teased, his voice rough and scratchy from all of the shouting he’d been doing the night before. His hands reached out, and with just a bit of a struggle, he got Corcere settled against his hip. He wondered if she noticed the state that he was in, for she was barely as dramatic as usual.

Sherlock nodded his head. “I did that as well, she’s just here for moral support." A glass of water and two little white pills were offered out to him, and Victor took them eagerly, downing the entire glass. He was parched, truly.

Only now did Vic give himself the opportunity to really look at the brunet, eyes peering over the glass, shyly scanning him up. Sherlock was wearing the same pajamas as the night before, the shirt still too wide on his own thinner frame, the sunlight streaming in through the window creating a halo in his messy hair. It glowed, and Victor mentally apologised for ever wanting to have said window gone; it had given him the best sight in _weeks_.

Sherlock seemed relaxed, at home, and Vic once again wondered how wonderful it would be to see this every day, to wake up nuzzled in that neck, to kiss him awake every morning. Gosh, it was like heaven on earth, even now with his head in so much pain it wouldn't surprise him if it was actually split open.

He made room for Sherlock under the blanket to mask his staring as being expectational, and was a bit confused when the other simply raised an eyebrow.

"Get in."

"I have important matters to tend to today, Vic," Sherlock muttered and in response, Vic glanced at the time. What day was it again? Ah, Saturday.

"Need I remind you there’s no reason you can't do them in bed?"

A scrunch of his nose, but then with a click of his tongue, Sherlock crawled beneath the duvet, being locked right back into an embrace. "You smell like death."

How charming of him to say.

"You smell like home,” Victor responded, only half to shut the other up, and indeed it worked; Sherlock didn't say anything for a bit, so Victor decided to continue with his grip on the other. After Jonathan, and after all that had happened between them in the last few days, it just felt so easy to slip into this, to act a little more into Sherlock than usual. He certainly was interested in more. He knew that now, he’d been thinking of no one but Sherlock during his time with Jonathan, always hoping that maybe, _maybe_ afterwards, he would begin to see Victor in the same potential way, like a lover, a partner.

Sherlock’s response was truly expired by the time he said it a good five minutes later.

"I'm wearing your clothes, of course I smell like home."

Victor didn't say anything after that.

He broke the silence later though, remembering that he had promised to make a different breakfast for the other. "Sorry for the lack of dosa pancakes, by the way. Maybe next time."

Sherlock didn't seem to be able to mask his confusion, his words following a bit stilted. "That's... Fine."

There was a brief moment of serenity, locked in Sherlock's arms and Sherlock locked in his.

But then, Victor’s body decided that it was just the right moment to rid itself of all the toxins he’d put in it.

Sherlock was lucky that he was so observant, instantly letting go of him so Victor could rush towards the toilet.

Even later, Victor would still hear about the revenge Sherlock would’ve exacted on him if he’d managed to even get just a tiny splat of his vomit on him. Sherlock was lucky Victor wasn't _that_ much of a mess.

*********

With social media letting word get around faster than ever before, the news of Sebastian getting in quite a bit of trouble came to them rather quickly; it was two days after the party, Victor sitting at his desk practically buried under a mountain of books that he needed to sufficiently study for his upcoming test, when he got a text from Jeremy.

Check your twitter feed!

Jeremy had heard of the plan the day after the party, when he’d asked about Jonathan. He’d seen Sherlock before, he’d heard him talk spitefully about the guy, and Victor wouldn’t have been able to look himself in the mirror if he hadn’t admitted to Jeremy that it had all been for Sherlock. The other had disapproved of him playing with Jonathan’s feelings, but did eventually seem to agree when he’d heard the reasoning behind it.

Victor instantly switched apps, opening his twitter feed - which took forever because he never really used it for anything other than updates from the university's social network - and saw quite some interesting tweets about a Sebastian.

 

Room next to me wrecked by two security officers #justcollegethings

Just saw @sebwilk being guided to the administration office by a secutiry guard #wtf

Room mate just got shit for drugs possession in his room, happy he didn't fuck me over by putting it on me #nice

 

Jonathan. Victor almost felt sorry for dragging him into this, but it vanished just as quickly as he finished reading the tweet.

He switched back to the texting app. They had succeeded! Sebastian wouldn’t bother Sherlock anymore!

**William they got him! Sebastian was guided out of his room after a wide search and they found the drugs!**

_I know._

He wished that he had been the bearer of good news, but It was no surprise, truly, that Sherlock already knew. Nonetheless, Victor had expected something more excited or thankful from the other's side, texting him back.

**You're welcome, by the way. Are you celebrating?**

He got a text back a minute later, he didn't expect Sherlock to be quite so busy right now.

_I am, by visiting a pet store to get your reward for helping me._

Oh yes, he remembered, he’d asked the other to just get something for Corcere. He didn't really know how embarrassing it otherwise would be if Sherlock got something for him; what if he was a horrible gifter? No one could mess up a present for a pet, right? Still, something surprised him from that message.

**You hadn't before?**

_I didn’t know that you succeeded until last evening, this is earliest that I could go._

**So... If Sebastian wouldn't have been kicked out of the school you wouldn't have gotten me anything?**

_Correct._

He scoffed, though he could’ve expected it from someone like Sherlock.

He closed the app, looking for more responses from people in the building, and was surprised to receive a file from Sherlock.

Img.3658

It was a messy picture, obviously taken in the store with his free hand as the other held the item. It was a piece of fabric, soft and slightly fluffy, reminding Vic of fleece. The thing that caused him to gasp, though, were the tiny luxuriously embroidered carrots on it, something so adorable he couldn't believe the other had even thought about _holding_ it.

Sherlock must have been confused by Victor's silence, and sent another text.

_Do you think Corcere would like this?_

His hands were too quick in excitement to really type out everything.

**THAT'S AMAZING!!! Oh my hod shed love it!**

**BRING IT HERE RIGHT NOW OH MYVGOFD**

_I'll be there in twenty minutes, do try to contain your excitement until then._

He jumped up, instantly getting to work to make the flat (and himself) presentable, but even then, he didn't really know what Sherlock liked to see him in. He was very into science and bees, but he’d never actually shown interest in a guy before. Well... Not in any other way than an opportunity to kiss...

Would he be Sherlock's type?

After ten minutes of panicking, Victor settled on a pair of dark blue jeans and a nice white button-down with bees on it.

And then there was a knock on the door.

It was a whirlwind of limbs and sounds the moment he let the other inside. Victor instantly tried pulling a flabbergasted Sherlock into his arms, but nothing worked; the other had a bag in his hand that kept separating their bodies, and by the time Vic got it out of the way, Sherlock was half leaning on him to regain his balance.

"Vic, for-for as much as I appreciate the sentiment, it'd be much safer to let me actually get on my feet first."

Fingers were digging into his sleeves, desperate to keep himself upright, and Victor chuckled softly at the other's words, pulling away and helping the other back on his feet. "Sorry, sorry, just too happy about seeing you again." With that, he gave the other his most charming smile, and Sherlock actually avoided his gaze.

"I bought two of them." He’d said it softly, holding out the bag to Vic, and as he opened it, he realised that there were two fleece-like blankets with embroidered carrots in it. "One for Corcere and.. one for you, because you really do seem like the type to like _carrot blankets_." The other clearly scoffed to cover up the cheesiness, but while looking away, Victor just launched himself onto Sherlock again, hugging him tightly.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

A tense, a hesitation, and then, finally, Victor felt the other's body give in, an arm wrapping around his shoulders. "Thank you for helping me with Sebastian."

 _You know_ , Victor thought, as he buried himself into Sherlock's curls as if to familiarize himself again, _even without my clothes on, you smell like home._

He didn't dare say it out loud yet, not yet, but in all the elatedness of the moment, Victor felt like he might have a chance to ask, at least, for a coffee, shared. A date, maybe.

He pulled away a bit to look at the other, all soft smiles and shy gazes they shared, and Victor imagined how good they'd fit, walking arm in arm on campus, ordering coffee together at Jeremy's, stealing kisses, it all seemed just a bit too perfect in his little mind, but was it worth a try? "Would you like to..-"

Sherlock's phone rang.

_Dammit._

"Sorry, I think I know what this is!"

The other seemed genuinely happy upon reading the caller ID. If only Victor knew what he’d missed. But then he realised that he’d never heard that ringtone before, that meant it was for someone special, surely. Would it be...?

"Hello, Mister Lester? Oh-really? Yeah, yeah of course, when can we come over? Today? I am with him right now, actually. We could be there within the hour. Yes, I'll see you then?" All the while, Sherlock had been smiling and mouthing things to Victor, who had only understood the movement from his lips curling to the inside of his mouth.

_Bee._

As soon as Sherlock hung up, he was set into motion. "They have found a perfectly healthy swarm with queen, Vic. Grab your car keys, we're going to get them."

"Now?"

There was a pause. Sherlock clearly didn’t like the reluctance in that question, and was frowning, and Vic noticed that this would be the most inappropriate moment to confess that he’d rather share a couch and kiss a little on it, but, well, who could judge him?

“Yes _now_. Hurry up, I believe Corcere can wait for her blanket.”

He agreed, Corcere probably wasn’t even conscious of the gift, but as he glanced at her cage, he saw a curious nose poking through the iron bars. She liked him as well, Victor knew it.

*********

It was rather chilly out, making it a perfect day to pick up the swarm; most of the bees would be inside the hive huddling for warmth, and the idea of finally filling their beautiful hive with the little creatures did make Victor very excited once he got the initial thought of him and Sherlock spending some alone time together in his room out of his head.

Well, it didn’t necessarily help, and maybe, _maybe_ , he sneaked in a little text to Jeremy.

**Could i reserve a table for two for a high tea tonight, maybe after closing time?**

They drove quickly, the music in the background enough to make the silence between them comfortable, but still, both tried to make conversation.

“We have the bee suits in the back, right?”  Sherlock asked.

“Yes, I packed them, everything is in, you already asked twice.”

“Oh, okay.”

Sherlock piped up moments later, “Do you think we’ll get stung? They always say beekeepers can’t avoid getting stung as well.”

“We are wearing protection, if we’re careful, I don’t think the bees will bother us. Besides, just focus on the sound of an angry bee!”

“And what does that sound like again?”

Sherlock was lucky that Victor was in such a cheerful mood, because he promised himself that he’d _never_ try to mimick the sound of an angry bee ever again, especially at Sherlock’s response: “You’re absolutely ridiculous.”

“Oh come on.” They glanced at each other, and Victor saw the mischief in the other’s eyes. “You loved it.”

He could’ve sworn that Sherlock nodded, but at that moment, he was already focusing on taking a right turn into a small farm where they found the hive, and there, in a suit that didn’t look far from an astronaut’s suit, stood the man that had called them. Hitched on their car was a small utility trailer ready to take the bees with them, because there was no way that any bees were going in the trunk of his car.

A familiar buzzing could be heard, and as the gloved hand shook theirs, the man pointed at the big plastic barrel with his other hand. “I would wear protective gear if I were you.” And indeed, the bees did not sound happy at all, the buzzing louder and faster than any relaxed ones should sound. As Victor glanced at Sherlock, he noticed that he was tense.

“I spent good money for those suits, if they don’t work, nothing will.”

It was an assurance that didn’t exactly work, but after they were both in the suits, he did notice how Sherlock’s shoulders weren’t raised anymore.

“There is a hive in the barrel, it’s very important that you shake it into the new hive as soon as possible, and oh, use sugar water, they haven’t eaten in a while.” Victor glanced at Sherlock at that. That usually meant some annoyance from the swarm’s side, he did hope that the other could stay calm while they did that.

“The queen?” Oh it all sounded so business-like, it pleased Victor. The man held out a small screen-wire cage, and as he looked inside, a slightly bigger bee with a yellow dot on her body looked back at him. “Ah, she’s gorgeous.”

Sherlock looked inside as well, nodding.

“I am very happy you guys could pick them up, I’d rather have them alive and well than poisoned. Take good care of them, okay?” Victor carefully took the queen to put her into the car, then motioned for Sherlock to help him carry the barrel into the trailer. Thousands of bees were heavier than you’d think, and as it was put down, they could hear the irritated buzzing coming from the box. They’d be a bit confused at first, but Victor was sure that they’d soon be very pleased with their new home.

“Thank you again,” Victor said, ever so kindly, as he put parts of the suit back in the car. Even if he wanted to be protected, it got very hot inside that suit very quick, and he decided that a sting wasn’t as bad as a heatstroke while he was driving.

And then they were off, driving with no music on and all the windows down to hear the bees in the barrel, which was safely strapped onto the trailer.

Sherlock was looking at the queen, ever so softly murmuring small deductions. “She’s been a queen for about half a year before swarming, leaving with half the nest, her weakness was mostly that she just wasn’t able to produce enough, I think they will assign a new one even before her death.” Victor nodded, liking the idea. They were now in spring; brooding and the eggs were very important right now. The honey would come later, hopefully next year or at the end of season.

Other people on the road were staring curiously after this fancy car as it passed with a buzzing trailer hitched on the back, but Victor could laugh about it.

Now to make sure the bees would safely get into that beautiful hive of theirs.

*********

It surely was a struggle to get himself into the suit again once they were back on campus. They had to drive not only onto campus, but also into the middle of the grassfield, which had started an argument with the gardener until Victor mentioned that it was for the beehive. The other lit up; he knew how important bees were for the plants in the area.

They were standing with the barrel in their hands, the beehive's top now opened and sprayed with sugar water. Both were in their suits in case the bees decided to attack, but they were swarming, it couldn't be half as bad.

"We open it, put it onto the hive and then hit it harshly, okay?" Sherlock’s net-covered head nodded. "3...2...1… Now!"

As soon as the lid was off the barrel, the buzzing became louder, and Victor only had a brief moment to admire the sight of all the little bees before Sherlock forced him to heave it over there, the first bees dropping onto the hive without even needing any force. They instantly started feeding off the sugar water, and then, with a synchronized movement, the two of them slapped their hands against the back of the barrel, a clump of bees around an old hive falling onto the victorian one that Victor had designed.

People on campus were observing from a safe distance, scared off by all the buzzing, and as Victor worked on getting the queen out of the metal contraption, bees started circling him slowly, until the queen was lowered into one of the middle plates inside the hive, instantly circled by workers to protect her. They didn't give luck too much the chance to lack here, Victor was certain that the bees would stay, and he was almost about to celebrate with Sherlock when he heard the other hiss in pain, flapping his hand away. Ah, he had been stung, that could happen. Sherlock should’ve paid more attention to detail, and that was the first time Victor ever had to say _that_.

"You okay?"

"I'm _fine_. It's just a bee sting." It sounded a bit annoyed, but still, that was a lot less worried than he’d heard from him earlier, and as Victor guided the bees deeper into the hive to close it, he made sure to keep an eye on his friend's well-being. He was clutching his hand and Victor didn't need to see his face to know just how dramatically he was pouting.

"So, do you have anyone that will break up with you for just killing a bee?" Victor teased, and Sherlock did laugh, watching Victor close the top of the hive, locking it in place to keep both the bees and any curious students safe from each other.

"... Coffee?" Victor's voice had been high and hopeful, but as they walked away with the mask now off their heads, Sherlock shook his head.

"I need to take a shower before anything, Vic, I was sweating in that suit."

Victor agreed with that, he'd rather be a bit clean when visiting Jeremy's for said 'coffee'. "Wanna shower at my place and then go for some at Jeremy's?"

To his surprise, Sherlock didn't even decline, nodding, though he did pause. "Jeremy's won't be open by then."

"Oh, don't worry about that, it will be."

Everything is taken care of, just knock on the door and i'll let you in.

*********

Sherlock took absolute ages to shower, Victor realised. Jeremy must have been getting impatient by now, which made it all the more nerve-wracking for him. Victor owed him big time for this, but he easily knew how to make the other happy. Sherlock had borrowed a shirt from him again, this time without even a single complaint, which would’ve baffled him a bit more if he wasn't so distracted by the prominent collarbones that poked out the moment he left the bathroom.

It was all ever so domestic, Sherlock borrowing his shirt, taking long showers and smelling of Victor’s shampoo afterwards, the soft mutters of thanks and greetings as they switched.

Victor had pointed at Corcere before closing the door. She was in her crate, curiously chewing and settling onto her new gift, but she was soon disturbed by eager hands as Sherlock gave her a very belated greeting. Even from the shower, Victor could hear him coo, and eventually, hear him cry out in pain at the nip on his finger she must have given him. Was Corcere ever going to change? Probably not.

Victor took a little longer to get ready, actually. His impatience with Sherlock was unfounded. He slipped into his bedroom before the other could notice, and took quite a while to come back out, wearing a far tighter shirt than he had ever worn before with Sherlock, the same one he’d used to get Jonathan's attention, actually. So when he entered the living room ready to get a good coffee, Sherlock got an eyeful of tight dark jeans, a tight button up, and the most beautiful messy head of hair to rival even his own, and to Victor's amusement, the other's eyes followed him with rapt attention.

"Ready to go?"

"Are we going to a café or a nightclub?"

It did cause him to laugh. "What, do I look that sexy?"

Sherlock just smirked, standing up and following Victor out of the flat after he’d safely locked Corcere back in her cage.

*********

It was already becoming a bit less busy around campus; it was late, even the latest classes were already out, and as Victor walked next to Sherlock along the gravel pathway towards their now frequented coffee shop, he couldn't help but remember the first day of the new semester, how he'd walked along this very same path on the way to get his hazelnut coffee on that sunny Monday morning. Sentimental as hell, it was, to think of how quickly things had changed from then. From not knowing Sherlock at first, his life was now basically entangled with the other's, from classes to parties to lazy evenings spent smoking together. Sherlock had become a full part of his life within the span of a couple months; Victor didn't know if that was a good or bad thing.

"The store is closed," Sherlock said as they got closer to Jeremy's, and Victor was scoffing; it was not. He’d made appointments with Jeremy for a reason. He'd just made sure it looked closed.

"If I say it's open, it's open."

"Victor's Law," Sherlock drawled to that, and he couldn't help but push his shoulder, getting a dramatically surprised sound from the other’s lips. He was right though. As they came closer, Victor was able to spot Jeremy cleaning up the place quite easily, and as he nudged Sherlock's shoulder again, the other didn't even bother to look at him. "It’s still locked,” he muttered, and as Vic pulled onto the door, it was indeed stuck. He didn't look at Sherlock's self-satisfied face, just knocking the door and yes, there Jeremy was with the keys, opening the door for them.

"Whoops! Sorry! You guys took so long that I had to keep people from coming in!"

Victor waved his hand. "Ah well, William took soooooo long to shower and dress, can't really blame him." Jeremy and Sherlock gave him a pointed look, for both had experiences with him, and both knew who was really to blame. "So, I'm in the mood for a bit of crumpets, do you have a high tea for us?"

They had walked in the store, and Jeremy was already busy turning the lights on near the booth they always sat at, and he got the response in a bit of delay. "Uhhh... It will take a little while, but sure!" Sherlock had his back to Jeremy, Victor hoped that he hadn't seen the wink the other had given him; most of the high tea was already prepared, Vic had just needed an excuse to be left alone with Sherlock. Jeremy being busy was a good one.

"Sit down, sit down!" Sherlock had still been looking around the store, especially at Jeremy who was now busying himself on preparing their cups of tea. He only sat down next to him when Vic told him to, and Vic _did_ have his arm on the leaning over the booth, giving him a smug smile.

Sherlock didn't seem to care.

"Will Jeremy be joining us today, or were you just using him for his café?"  It was light, with an amused tone, and it honestly only made Vic grin, the arm behind Sherlock's neck now being placed around his shoulder. Victor noticed the brief widening of the eyes from Sherlock's part. It was not like him to not focus on his surroundings like that, but from Victor's quite optimistic point of view, it meant that the only thing Sherlock could've been focused on was him.

"He did it with pleasure, I assure you. Besides, do you think I'd not find something to repay him with? Something just as brilliant as yours?"

"Not many things can match my brilliance, but you're welcome to try. He deserves it,"Sherlock said rather modestly. He was right, because there was Jeremy with a big cupcake display filled with all kinds of treats, from finger sandwiches to crumpets coming their way. Oh, he was so happy to have a good friend working there, it made life just that little more convenient. "I ate yesterday." It was almost ridiculous how-mock reluctant this guy was when the platters finally came out. But Victor didn't order an entire high tea from his friend after closing hours to be told that the other wasn't hungry, so without even any indication that he’d heard Sherlock's words, he moved a tiny sandwich in front of his face, triangular shaped, filled with smoked salmon and cream cheese. How could the other resist?

"Oh come on, it's smoked, don't you think that's hot? It's as British and posh as it can get!" The other scrunched his nose in distaste at first, eyes locking with a smiling Jeremy who came to bring them their tea, but then, as he walked away and Vic was briefly distracted, he took a big bite that barely missed his fingers, leaving Victor by quickly pulling back. "Hey!" He exclaimed before he put the rest in his own mouth out of spite.

Sherlock was smirking at him, truly, a cheeky one that left Victor feeling a bit lightheaded, and then Sherlock had a scone in his hand, offering it to Vic. "I hope you like whipped cream, it's your turn." Vic saw it coming, really, but let it happen regardless, taking the scone from Sherlock and bringing it up to his lips, but a quick hand forced his own forward, the whipped cream ending up all over his face and even then he had to chew through the sweet bread stuffed in his mouth a minute later. From a distance, he saw Jeremy chuckle to himself, cleaning up the table.

Jeremy was right there, someone who had a crush on Sherlock was _right there_ and he let it happen. The idea actually made him feel quite a bit guilty, but the feeling disappeared the moment he looked into the bright eyes of the guy sitting next to him, now settled close against his side as it had been the best way to keep Victor from pulling away from his whipped cream attack. At least, that was probably what Sherlock told himself. To Victor, it seemed that the other found it quite comfortable to be close to him.

As they sipped their tea quietly, the day was discussed again, excited mentions about the quality of the bees, and the way they responded to the hive, all while they casually kept their proximity. A few more snacks were eaten, especially focused on the pancakes, and the topic couldn't help but come up at some point. "Jeremy is an excellent cook, don't you think?"

To which Sherlock apparently needed a moment to think about. "I suppose he made you breakfast often." Ah yes, Sherlock was making the connection. "It explains your knowledge of dosa pancakes."

Victor nodded proudly. "Yes! Yes! He made it for me once, they're delicious."

"Then you should make them for me." It wasn't said as a normal request, really. It had a nervosity laced through the words, he could sense it, and as Victor looked at Sherlock, the other tried to busy himself with the fruit on his tiny fork.

"One day, I will. That won't be a default breakfast anymore,” he promised, and with a brief break, Sherlock settled back, sipping the earl grey again. "I was thinking about that, actually." Victor gathered his courage, his free arm wrapping around the other's waist instead of around his shoulders.

Sherlock paused in the sips of his tea.

At first Victor thought it had been his movement that had caused Sherlock to freeze up like that, but as he followed the other’s gaze, he found two strangers just outside the window, who had just turned around after obviously getting caught staring at them. "Must’ve been quite a sight, two guys having a high tea after closing time," Victor tried, wondering if Sherlock felt bad to be seen together with him, but as he put his tea down, the following comment brought Victor further into a topic he’d been waiting to breach.

"They must’ve thought we got special treatment for our date."

_Our date._

He wondered if Sherlock could feel his heart beating furiously in his chest. If Victor focused, it was almost as if he could see the other’s beating in time with his own, but of course that wasn't possible.

Did he want it to start now? Like this? Yes, there’d been a reason why he had asked Jeremy to wait two hours after closing time for them, why he had dressed the way he did, why he was pressed so pleasantly against the other. He adored every single part of Sherlock, he truly did. From the beginning, Victor had felt the pull the other had on him, and oh how they had gotten entangled in each other, he didn't know if he could get out of it.

"Do you mind them saying that?"

"Not at all." Sherlock now only turned to him, curiously. At the moment, he was very annoyed that Sherlock was so good at poker faces, it just made everything so awkward now, to say his next words.

  
"... This could be a date."

  
"Yes."

Was that Sherlock saying it was a date or him confirming that it _could_ be a date? He couldn't see the half smile, the nervosity falling over the other.

"Should it be?" he asked, and once again, Sherlock almost evaded the question.

"What do you think?"

And now Vic got impatient, because it was a full on, "I think it should."

"So do I."

So it was a date. The moment this actually registered, Victor couldn't do more than laugh awkwardly; it had been a while since someone made him feel so shy and clumsy again. Sherlock copied him though, a hearty laugh, and within the rush of happiness that went through him, Vic couldn't help but lean in and give the other a sugary peck on the cheek. Sherlock hummed. How much would be okay with him right now? He didn't know.

"Is this a surprise to you, William?"

“No. Yesterday when you got drunk, you told me all the different ways you wanted me as your boyfriend, actually.”

Oh god.

"Oh god so _that's_ what I would regret! Oh my god!" The chuckle that came from Sherlock was felt on Victor’s face as he hid it into his shoulder, warmth flooding his cheeks.

“And I was right, you are in fact regretting it.” Sherlock smirked. “I can’t possibly imagine why.”

"What are you saying, William? You're not something to regret?"

"What do you think then?"

"I think you're brilliant."

There was a brief pause in which Sherlock once again stubbornly didn’t show his response. But then, that blank face broke out in a grin, a low amused huff leaving his lips. “I think so too.” It was honestly too ridiculous, and it only made Vic laugh, leaning in again to give him another kiss on his cheek, Sherlock actually already trying to turn his head to meet lips, which didn’t happen as Vic quickly pulled away, of course to bother him. It was practically irresistible to not try.

“Oh no no no, you gotta wait for that,” he teased. “I want to be very polite and ask you first.”

“What, to _kiss_ me? You didn’t do that last time.”

Gosh they were close, he knew for a fact that any person in public would probably throw up at the sweetness of the two of them, which was, according to Vic, also a reason why he had asked Jeremy to do this after closing time.

Oh he was so selfless.

Sherlock was smiling dumbly. “Well, ask me then.”

There was a moment in which Victor raised his eyebrows and put his finger in the air as if to get his attention, and then, with a very serious voice, he asked. “Can I-”

“Yes.”

Victor paused again, narrowing his eyes at the other in warning. “Ah, no. You couldn’t have possibly known what I was about to ask.”

Sherlock was already rolling his eyes. “Yes I could've. Ask me again.”

“May I kiss you?”

Sherlock pretended to think on that really hard, averting his eyes to the ceiling, but then, ever so slowly, he nodded. “Yes.”

Victor didn’t wait for it, really. He was about to give Sherlock an unforgettable kiss, and he hoped to get one back. As he’d (awkwardly, mind you) imagined before, a hand came to gently cup the other’s cheek, a brief tilting of Sherlock’s head, and then, with a slow movement, Victor leaned forward and captured those much-admired lips with his own, slightly parted to taste the sweetness of the whipped cream still on his lips. It was warmer than their last, less rushed, and as he felt Sherlock’s lips move with his he felt a yearning behind it; Victor realised that he hadn’t been the only one waiting for this moment.

The only thing that eventually broke them apart was Victor’s need for air, his breaths coming in short pants as he took in the other’s face. Sherlock’s cheeks were flushed, and only then Vic noticed that he was still cupping his face with both hands, gently stroking over his cheek. Blue eyes were trained on him, a stare Victor would want to keep on himself forever if he was selfish enough to claim it, but something he wanted to do far more was finally word it.

“Christ you’re beautiful, it’s totally worth whatever I owe Jeremy,” he whispered, and then, without a moment to really allow Vic to take in the moment, Sherlock’s arm wrapped around his neck to force him forward once more, capturing his lips into another kiss, all until they melted into a warm mess of limbs and soft touches and soft breaths. There was something sacred about the first few days of being in love, something unbreakable and passionate, and it thrilled Victor to know that he’d gotten Sherlock’s heart racing in time with his.

Jeremy had to stay in that spot for longer than he’d expected that night, for Victor and Sherlock were long from done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter is the very fitting song from The Who called 'I can't explain'!


	12. Baking Fair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is brought to you by not-victor! Both Juliette and I are doing very big things this summer (she's vacationing across the states ~~and I'm in her suitcase~~ ), so this fic is actually going on hiatus for a while. The upcoming chapter is going to make up for it, though, I promise.

Week one. Kissing Victor was the best thing to happen to him in a while. That whole night was the best thing to happen to him in a while, now to think of it… and he had been thinking of it, for as much as he tried using his brain for things that were actually useful, his thoughts for the last week or so always ended up drifting to Victor. It was both troublesome and not, at the same time.

He didn't think that he was absorbing the circumstances to its fullest; Victor accepted him and liked him enough to not leave him, in turn he liked Victor enough to keep coming back, and he and Victor were in a _relationship_. Sherlock Holmes had finally found somebody. It was a bit surreal to think about.

As he was led by the elbow down a street in the heart of London, Victor flashed a secretive smile back at him. Like Sherlock hadn't already deduced everything about the date Victor had planned for them. It was embarrassingly easy to figure out why they were waltzing through the city, even more so _where_ they were headed for their date.

He didn't know why Victor had even bothered withholding the information from him, and he'd been sure to let the other know it. Victor had only laughed.

Sherlock hummed to himself when a familiar sign came into view. Angelo's. Obvious. They'd talked about it once before, a long while ago after they were both coming down from a great high and he and Victor had started naming places they'd like to go eat.

Sherlock rarely deleted moments spent with him.

They'd been seated by an overly-enthusiastic Angelo, who interacted with Victor like he'd known him his whole life - which he knew was false, it was more like a day and a single conversation over the phone - and Sherlock was just grateful that Victor hadn't attempted to pull out the chair for him.

Sherlock decided that this night was definitely one to be remembered. Classical music was playing somewhere in the background, and the lights were dimmed, and the atmosphere was soft. He glanced out the window to his right, focusing his eyes past his own reflection to the crowds of people making their way down just one of many busy streets, deductions flying off of them left and right. A soft thump on the table, and he turned his head to find a red candle had been placed between them. He smirked. "Not bad, for last-minute plans."

Victor didn't deflate with the newest deduction, in fact, he'd done quite the opposite. "I thought it would've thrown you off a bit."

"Absolutely not, you made it even easier."

"Well, then, I'll just have to try something else for the next one."

Sherlock couldn't help but stare at the other, admire him in the candlelight. His features were soft, his stare sincere. Earnest. By the time he bothered to look down at his own plate an hour into their date, his food was already half gone. He hadn't even noticed.

*********

Week two. Somewhere along their little walk out, their pinkies had sought out the other, just barely. It was so small, and so sweet, and Sherlock could not believe that he was doing something so juvenile as holding pinkies with somebody. Before Victor, he hadn't thought that he'd ever end up with all those little touches shared between them, the soft gazes, the shy smiles. Relationships were a thing far away from his area of being because he'd always been too.. well.. _Sherlock_ for that. Victor changed all of his rules.

Weighed down by beekeeper suits, they approached small, colourful Victorian beehives that had been set in the middle of one of the campus's many grass fields, and all the while, Sherlock could feel beads of sweat forming on the back of his neck.

"So we're just going to check up on them today, I want to see how well the hive is coming along, if there's anything weird going on with it or the queen," Victor explained on the way, Sherlock swinging their linked hands in response.

Unfortunately, when they came upon the hives, they soon had to unlink their pinkies from each other's grasp. Bees were buzzing here and there around them, upset at their intrusion and probably going on their way to the beautiful garden that he and Victor had landscaped for them a few paces off. Victor was quick in setting to work removing the top while Sherlock busied himself with putting on a pair of gloves, giving the other plenty of room to complete his task.

It was nothing less than a two-person job, he'd found out a few minutes in, and it was made all the worse by the plastic suit that seemed to suffocate him in his own skin. He and Victor were removing a panel from the hive to check up on its progress, inspecting the circular wax hive pattern. It was still all very new, the holes wouldn't become hexagonal until later.

Then they went about checking up on the queen, little bits of meaningless conversation passing in between tasks.

"I'm surprised that Sebastian hasn't posted anything yet." It was the first bit of chatter that Sherlock had found particularly engaging. They peered inside to find that the queen was surrounded by a bunch of workers, as she should be, heathy while she lays her eggs. Upon even closer inspection, Sherlock was pleased to find that some eggs were already in the process of opening. That meant their hive was growing.

"I'm not surprised. He comes from very affluential parents, so I don't suspect he'd want to ruin the family name.. though his mere existence does that for him already."

Victor chuckled. Sherlock rolled his shoulder inside the heavy, restrictive plastic, the very same one that had been run into by a group of Sebastian's cronies on their way out of class, some harsh words following it, his scowl mostly hidden by the wide net covering his head. He wouldn't bother Victor about it now, if ever. The bees were the most important thing to focus on at the moment, those made him happy.

*********

Week three. Victor was lying on top of him and his weight was pressing him down into the sofa, incredibly warm and constant and _present_ , a feeling that seemed to meld right into his bones. Victor knew all the right ways to spoil him, honestly. The curtains were drawn, the lights were out, though muted afternoon sun still managed to fill the room around them, gleaming off of plants and hazy where little motes flew about between cracks in the curtain. Corcere was resting comfortably atop the armrest at their feet, because of course she'd been too stubborn to stay inside the cage when Sherlock had first stopped by the flat unannounced, scratching and sneezing at the metal bars until the two took pity upon her and let her out.

They weren't paying attention to her. They were too wrapped up in each other to bother, Victor's one arm hanging off the sofa while the other rested around Sherlock's hair. Sherlock's own hands were placed on Victor's back, their lips moving together in languid, lazy movements.

Sherlock could feel the other's chest expanding against his own when he took a deep, contented breath, sighing out his nose moments later, and it was a fascinating experience to the point of perfection.

He lost track of time somewhere between their ankles knocking into each other's and their lips parting for tongues to meet; minutes could have passed, or hours, but either way Sherlock was perfectly okay with what they had at the moment. All he needed was Victor, and Victor was _there_. He was practically breathing him in, their bodies so close together that he wondered if their ribs would get tangled together, if they were to stay like that forever, how he wanted to.

Soon, though, Victor receded from the kiss, just as slow and calm as the rest of it had been, proceeding to trail warm kisses down his neck. Sherlock was holding his breath on whether or not he'd continue his path downwards, trying to predict what Victor would do from that point on.

But then it just.. stopped.

He didn't know when the kisses stopped, but by the time he did notice their absence, he had heard a light snore come from the other, felt it vibrate along the column of his throat.

Victor had literally fallen asleep on him.

Victor's face was pressed into the crook of his neck, his cheek smooshed up against his collarbone. And worst of all, he was drooling on his shirt. Sherlock caught himself smiling up at the tie-dyed tapestry hung on the wall above the sofa; he wasn't going to wake him up, oh no, he figured that he'd better just torment him about it in the morning. And he did.

*********

Week four. Sherlock was sitting on the grass in his white suit, sans the wide-brimmed hat and the gloves purely for his own comfort a few meters off from the hive to relax. The only excuse he'd bothered giving the other was a smirk and a raise of the eyebrows. Victor, meanwhile, was completely dressed up with the hat and all, standing at the hives and removing a panel to check up on the bees' progress yet again as they buzzed around. Sherlock took the time to really appreciate them when they flew past, a contemplative look on his face as his eyes switched between the garden in the distance and his boyfriend standing just a few feet away.

Even a beekeeper's suit looked good on him.

"You are so lazy."

Sherlock stewed on that for a minute, trying to look offended about it. He watched Victor carefully slide the panel back into place and wipe off his hands. He hummed. "I have class in an hour and a half."

"So what does that mean?"

"It _means_ it's your day off and you might as well do something with it."

Victor made a sound akin to a gasp. A white glove was thrown at him. "Almost every day is your day off, you have all your work finished up until next week!"

"Next two weeks," he corrected, waving around the glove for emphasis, and that made Victor smile despite himself. "On that basis alone, I shouldn't be required to attend classes, I hate attending classes. There's nothing there for me except a group of idiots who can't seem to leave me alone."

Whoops.

Victor's full attention was on him in an instant. "What?"

"What?"

"What do you mean, 'what'? Who's not leaving you alone?"

There was a pause in which Sherlock took his grand old time standing up, stretching out his arms as Victor came closer. "Sebastian's friends. They've filled in for him in his absence, it's really rather annoying." He was met with a look of concern and regretted ever speaking a word of it. Victor felt too strongly, and to him, some harassment from some idiots didn't deserve Victor's constant worrying.

"Are you okay?"

"Oh please, Vic, of course I am."

He blinked rapidly at Sherlock, and Sherlock had to force down his amusement, though he was sure that he'd picked up on a few of Victor's mannerisms in turn. He obviously wasn't taking this as serious as Victor seemed to think was appropriate, because, "Well, talk to me if you need to, we'll figure something out."

Sherlock's face fell blank. "Now why would I do that? You drooled all over my shirt."

"Shut up!"

*********

As Sherlock stepped through the door, the first thing to greet him was the smell of cookies.

Now, Sherlock usually took it upon himself to invite himself over Victor's flat unannounced, and it was commonplace to walk in on him doing some of the oddest things that even Sherlock would've never expected otherwise. And Sherlock thought that he led a weird life; Victor's was full of harbouring campus-illegal snakes for his friends while they were away, then proceeding to forget to lock the enclosure and crying as he holds Corcere trying to find the damn thing. It was full of nearly throwing out his back getting a new piece of furniture moved into his flat after Sherlock decided to leave one of his experiments there. It was full of swapping clothes with a couple of the blonde psychology majors over tea, then passing around a joint as they all watch Netflix, Sherlock included.

This time, it was baking so many cookies that they filled up half of all the available surfaces in his kitchen, wearing an apron over a ridiculous yellow pastel, cupcake-printed button down. He turned around to greet Sherlock with a spatula in his hand, arms outstretched for a hug. "Hey, love. Good thing you stopped by, I need some help."

He let go of the hug to go fuss around with trays of bee cookies, bringing them all together at the kitchen table, balancing two trays in his hands as he passed.

Sherlock's gaze flitted over the scene. "Help."

"Yes, there.. is.. a baking fair, you didn't know?" Victor asked, his voice distracted and cheerful. "I need to ice and wrap all these up in those-" he pointed to a box of decorative plastic bags "-in the next hour. And I have a different shirt for you to change into."

"Who says I'm going in the first place?"

Victor turned to him with a greatly amused, excited smile. "Sherlock. You're going. You will thank me later."

Sherlock pulled a face as he walked over to the tray of bee cookies that had already been decorated with icing, waving a hand over them in indecision. Before Victor could even begin to scold him for it, he plucked one straight up and took a bite of it. "You know, you don't _have_ to make something to attend a bake fair," he said between a mouthful of cookie.

Victor attacked him from the side, wrapping his arms tightly around Sherlock's midsection and murmuring, still smiling against his skin, "No, but I needed some inspiration for our bee project. You're eating my inspiration, you know."

"Mmm, don't tell me that shirt you got looks anything like yours."

"If it does, would you pleaaaase wear it?" And now Vic was begging him like a child who knew that they were going to get what they wanted anyway, snaking a hand up to the breast pocket on Sherlock's shirt and tapping against it. "It's blue and it has _one_ little cupcake on it, here. Just one."

Sherlock gave him a look, but really, how could he say no? Especially with those big green puppy-dog eyes? He tisked. "Fine."

"Thank you!"

And that was how Victor and Sherlock ended up arriving at the baking fair looking like a cute set, arm in arm with each of them carrying large baskets of bee cookies over to the table that Victor had reserved for them.

Amidst tented stands with colourful banners - different ones that advertised cupcakes, and pies, and eclairs - people milled about the aisles lingering at spots that smelled particularly good. Sherlock caught himself straying away from their own stand a few times as well, only to circle back around as if he were on some sort of leash while Victor was busy setting up his chairs and decorations and such. Victor was always the type of person to go overboard with decorations, so it was no surprise to Sherlock that he'd come back to a cutesy little hive-patterned setup at their stand.

He feigned disinterest as he approached, though Victor didn't seem to be buying it for one second. He stepped behind the table, then the two just fitted themselves into each other's side, and perhaps they actually had melded together at some point that one day. The thought settled comfortably with him, really.

"I bet you can't find me my favourite dessert," Victor challenged, squeezing Sherlock closer. That meant the other had been keeping an eye on him as well, because there was no way that wasn't an excuse to let him go wander around and ignore his actual responsibilities at the stand.

Sherlock hummed. "Oh, that one's easy. I'll be right back." And just like that, he was removed from Victor's side, gliding down the cramped, crowded little aisles lined with vendors.

He stopped at quite nearly every stand along the way, trying a little taste of this and that, and all in all, Sherlock was glad that he came. He'd have to show Victor his appreciation later.

He was just passing a bunch of homemade dog treats when he finally found what he was looking for: crumpets. After poking around the stand for a bit, and avoiding the vendor's attempts at small-talk the best he could, he felt that it was time to start heading back. He'd been gone exploring for far too long.

Now with a plastic bag in one hand filled with Victor's patentedly favourite desserts, he began heading back in the direction he'd came in, once again circling back around to their stand. Which, looked rather empty as he approached? He stared down at the barren trays laid out on the table, then brought it back up to Victor, who just shrugged at him, explaining that people had really, really liked his bee cookies. "It's not even that rolled cookies are necessarily _good_ , they just look good, they were all crazy about them!" he'd said in the middle of gorging himself on some good old fashioned crumpets, Sherlock readily accepting an offer of a bite out of one.

Sherlock was glad that their stand had been cleared out, honestly, for that meant that he and Victor would be able to walk around the fair together and really get to experience it. And if there was anything that Sherlock had learned over the last few months, it was that walking with Victor meant seeing the possibilities.


End file.
